


Seed

by bell (bellaboo)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Physiology Make Them Do It, Awkward Sex, Background Anakin/Padme, Blow Jobs, Droids are the best, It's not a PWP, M/M, Polyamory, This was supposed to be a PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/bell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Anakin falls prey to a lethal poison, Obi-Wan has no choice but use all his resources to heal him-- no matter how reluctant he is in administering the antidote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“‘Let’s take the short cut,’” Obi-Wan muttered under his breath. Not that he had much breath to spare; Anakin was heavy on his back, passed out hours ago. In fact, he was too heavy a burden to carry for half a day, but Obi-Wan had no choice. It was that or leave Anakin abandoned in the wilderness of the pine forest. Anakin had done his best, trekking for days even with a raging fever. He eventually just collapsed, nearly giving Obi-Wan a heart attack.

He had no idea what had befallen Anakin. It couldn’t be the food, since they’d shared meal packs and Obi-Wan himself was fine. It probably wasn’t this planet’s bugs, either, because they’d have bitten Obi-Wan too. They did have a run-in with Grievous’ troops— so much for Anakin’s idea of a safe route— but blaster shots wouldn’t cause a fever.

“’This short cut will save us so much time,” Obi-Wan mimicked in Anakin’s voice. “Well, what good is time, Anakin, if you’re not here to experience it?” But Anakin remained mute and unreachable. His silence was more terrifying to Obi-Wan than his fever. A quiet Anakin was just wrong. What if he was more than just sick, what if he never woke up—

He shifted Anakin up higher on his back and sprinted.

*

“I have good news,” the ship’s med droid— Obi-Wan never could remember its name— chirped.

Obi-Wan sprang to his feet in relief. “You’ve found out what’s ailing him?”

“Yes, quite. He’s been injected with a poison made from the moss on this planet. I dare say it was shot into him; there’s a large pinprick on his thigh that’s the likely entry point.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. So there’d been more than just blasters in that melee. “All right, a poison. I see that the Separatists continue their cowardly ways. But never mind that. What’s the cure, how do we get it?” They were stuck in the far reaches of the Outer Rim. Resources were distant and help was further still.

“That’s the good news,” the med droid said. “You are from planet Nusume, are you not?” Its scan arm sprang out and bleeped over Obi-Wan.

“Yes, what of it? It’s a few days from here. Anakin’s too sick—“

“You don’t need to go that far, Master Kenobi. My scans have just confirmed that you carry the BRE2 gene. The antidote is in you. All you have to do is orally administer fresh seed to Master Skywalker, and he will be cured.”

“That is good news!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, eager that a cure was on this very ship. “So I just have to—“ he paused, mentally reviewing the prescription. Something wasn’t quite right. “Sorry, I don’t understand. What do you mean, seed?”

The medic droid shook it head like they were tired of conversing with lesser intelligent beings. “There’s a healing quality in your semen, Master Jedi. It would be an antidote to the poison ailing Master Skywalker.”

“It seems like an awful coincidence that I’d bear the antidote to the poison that Grievous' troops used.”

The medic droid raised its shoulders in imitation of a shrug. “It might not be coincidence. The Separatists do know you’re from Nusume.”

Obi-Wan held a hand to his temple. “Why in all the galaxy would they—“

“I can’t speak as to that, Master Jedi.”

“And my seed can only be administered…” Obi-Wan hesitated, the very concept odious to him. “Orally?”

“Correct.”

“And it has to be…” Obi-Wan hunted for the precise word the medic had used. “‘Fresh’?”

“For full effect, yes.”

This only grew more ridiculous by the second. “What if—“ Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “What if I provided my seed after, uh, emptying it into a clean vessel? Couldn’t Anakin consume it that way?”

“Physically, of course it’s possible. But you must understand that the healing qualities in your seed is delicate. If not administered directly from your penis into his mouth, you risk contaminating it with oxygen. Contact with air would render it effectively useless. You might as well give him a glass of water.”

It was not quite appropriate for a Jedi, but Obi-Wan briefly fantasized throttling the droid. It helped a bit with the frustration. Just a bit. But the problem at large remained. “I see. Then I have no choice.”

The droid took him literally. “You do, either to help Master Skywalker or leave him to die in agony.”

“That’s no choice at all!” Obi-Wan said sharply. As it if were the droid’s fault.

“I cannot speak as to that,” the droid repeated his language from earlier. “All I can do is inform you of the best way to heal Master Skywalker.”

Why on earth was Anakin so attached to these infuriating machines? It wasn’t fair that Anakin himself wasn’t healthy enough to deal with them on Obi-Wan’s behalf. “Fine.” Obi-Wan sighed. “No choice it is.”

*

Obi-Wan opened the sliding door slowly and gently closed it shut behind him. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the near darkness, but even in those seconds in which he saw nothing, he could sense Anakin towards the back of the room, radiating heat as if he were single-handedly powering a solar ship.

“Master,” Anakin murmured. The bed rustled. His foolish former Padawan never could lie still, even when his life depended on it.

Obi-Wan padded quietly towards the bed. By now he could see well enough to observe Anakin’s tangled sheets and his wild disarray of curls over the pillow. The little moonlight pouring in through the blinds shone off the sheen of sweat covering his naked, heaving chest.

The Medic droid described Anakin’s condition as “inhumanly warm.” Anyone else would’ve died from the infection or the fever to fight it off. And here was Anakin nearly a week after it started, still fighting it out. But even he couldn’t fight forever. It was a minor miracle he hadn’t suffered seizures, heat stroke, or any other half dozen side-effects.

Obi-Wan sat on the bedside, mattress sinking with his weight. He pressed a hand against Anakin’s slick forehead, half to check his fever, half out of habit from when Anakin was a child and needed a comforting a gesture. If only there were more that he could do. How could they live in such an advance age and still have to resort to such crude techniques?

“It seems they’ve found something to help,” Obi-Wan said. He began to stroke Anakin’s curls. Even those were damp and all the curlier from Anakin’s sweat. Obi-Wan could swear there was a gleam in Anakin’s eyes. His smile wouldn’t pass muster to his usual smirk, but it was still impressive, considering how little energy Anakin had left to expend.

“So I heard,” Anakin said. His voice was low and raw. “I guess you’ll be helping me out?”

It only made sense that the Medic droid shared the information with the patient himself. A wave of guilt and awkwardness washed over Obi-Wan; he withdrew his hand and folded it into his lap. He was out of tender and meaningless motions to offer a dying young man. “I understand it’s our only choice, Anakin. But I’ll make this as easy as possible for you.” He stopped, suddenly having to clear his throat. “I’ll go the ‘fresher first, and come back when I’m, uh, close.”

Anakin closed his eyes as if suddenly exhausted. A fresh tremor ran through his torso, his arm and chest muscles visibly contracting. “Now?” His breath grew more haggard as if he were trying to get air through a wet cloth.

Obi-Wan stood. “Now.”

Groaning as if he could barely hold on, Anakin rolled on to his side and into a ball. As if with the cure so close, his resolve had flagged.

“I’ll be back soon,” Obi-Wan promised.

The ‘fresher lights stunned his eyes with blindness. Obi-Wan gripped the cold metal wall. Anakin needed him, and he wasn’t sure he could rise to the occasion. He somehow had to summon arousal, but the only urge he felt right now was the one to throttle the Medic droid for not offering a more feasible cure. How could science not have synthesized whatever healing property was in his semen?

Still. The path ahead of him was clear. His calloused fingers, trained for the intricate and rapid-fire work of wielding a lightsaber, unlaced his legging laces just enough to reach in with a single hand. His penis was flaccid and uninspired. Oddly enough, the fact that his friend and brother-in-arms was dying of fever had somehow failed to arouse Obi-Wan’s interest.

Obi-Wan wrapped his hand around his thick, soft member. No matter how he felt, he had a mission to see through. Anakin was relying on him. He closed his eyes; summoned arousing memories. The few nameless encounters from before he was knighted, as he experimented with strangers in Coruscant bars. Favourite fantasies, of fucking and being fucked by men. But all his thoughts slipped away like water through his fingers. His mind refused to catch and hold on to fancy.

But what his imagination could not inspire, sheer physical insistence did. Obi-Wan stroked himself mercilessly, as hard and fast as he could. His cock hardened under the onslaught of heat and pressure. Rubbing the head of his dick just the way he liked, spreading pre-come, helped too. Even in this cold, impersonal ‘fresher with severe lights, he responded to a warm hand. It didn’t have to feel good. He just had to get the work done.

Obi-Wan tried not to dwell how in all the galaxies he’d keep an erection in the same room as Anakin. His former Padawan, of all people. His student and dearest friend. The man who’d stood by his side in so many missions and battles. He had to save him. How many times had Anakin saved him, with his lightning-fast reflexes and even faster thinking. Just before this fever, Anakin had pulled off his magic again, reflecting a wall of battle droid blasters with his lightsaber. Obi-Wan could see him clear as day, moving fluidly and with joy—

He pumped more, bringing a second hand to cup his balls. Focused on the pleasure building in his groin. Anakin needed this. Needed him. Yes.

Obi-Wan nearly came. He gasped, stopping mid-stroke. That had come out of nowhere. How ridiculous, to orgasm so far from his target. That’d have defeated the entire purpose of this exercise. Obi-Wan forced himself to inhale deeply and take his time exhaling. The deep breaths helped him take a step back from the edge. How he’d gone from absolutely uninspired to one stroke from coming, he had no idea, but this was for the best, wasn’t it? Maybe he could save Anakin after all.

Now what? He tucked his erection, pre-come and all, into his leggings and tied the top loosely. For Anakin’s sake, he had to keep this as chaste as possible. Regardless of the act Obi-Wan must complete, this was but a medical procedure for Anakin.

Back in the room, Anakin had sprawled his limbs in every direction. Obi-Wan smiled sadly. It was his usual sleeping position, but now he was most likely trying to release as much heat as possible. Obi-Wan studied Anakin’s form for a moment, how flushed his bare skin was, how high his chest rose with each breath. There was only position he could assume. Obi-Wan squared his shoulders; made himself stride towards the bed with conviction. There was only one way out of this predicament and he had no reason to drag out the ordeal with hesitation.

He knelt onto the bed and straddled Anakin, bracing his hands on either side. Obi-Wan avoided touching him with even his breath. “Anakin,” he murmured. Anakin muttered a low groan and turned his head. Even his neck muscles were tense, his Adam’s apple swollen. Obi-Wan was loath to wake him, but he was hard, ready, and needed Anakin’s cooperation with the delivery. This was for Anakin. He needed the antidote.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeated more insistently. “Wake up.”

Anakin’s eyelids fluttered. He blinked in confusion. “Master…?”

The fever was addling his mind. Anakin was sick and curative qualities aside, he clearly did not want his Master’s penis in his mouth. Obi-Wan heart thumped with dread. He’d be forcing himself on to his student. The thought alone nearly made Obi-Wan lose his erection. Only the reminder that Anakin could die without help kept Obi-Wan from jumping off the bed. “You need the antidote,” he prompted gently. Obi-Wan made himself be patient even though he was well aware how close to limp he was becoming. Anakin was so out of it. How would he be able to take Obi-Wan in his mouth?

“Your come,” Anakin murmured. Obi-Wan blushed. It didn’t matter that they were both adults. The words were still obscene coming from Anakin’s mouth. Obi-Wan tried not to think about how blood was rushing elsewhere too. “Right,” Anakin said. He tried a half-hearted smile. “You ready?”

Obi-Wan swallowed. “Almost.” He sat back on his haunches and knelt over Anakin. Lowering his gaze to avoid Anakin’s, he reached into his leggings. He wasn’t quite hard anymore. Going back to the ‘fresher probably wouldn’t work— he’d risk losing his erection again. “I’ll just—“ He closed his eyes. Cleared his mind and pumped his cock hard, ruthlessly. He could do this. He would do this.

He made the mistake of glancing down at Anakin. He lied listlessly, lips ajar. No matter how much he stroked himself, Obi-Wan was becoming flaccid again. He couldn’t stay aroused for an unwilling partner. He passed the back of his hand across his forehead; covered his eyes.

“Master?” Anakin asked, voice hoarse and quiet.

Obi-Wan’s hands flew to cover his crotch. His penis felt store from all the rubbing. If organs had feelings, he’d say that it was resentful of the abuse. “I’m sorry, Anakin. It seems I have failed you.”

Grimacing, Anakin lifted his torso on his elbows. “Can’t stay hard?”

Obi-Wan swung a leg over Anakin to move off the bed. “This was a mistake. I’ll message Coruscant. I’m sure one of the Jedi healers—“

“Master,” Anakin wheezed. “You’re making this too complicated. We have a cure right here.” He waved hazily at Obi-Wan. “I want to feel better now. I can handle a dick in my mouth.”

After days of watching Anakin fade away, this show of cockiness and insolence did Obi-Wan more good than he cared to admit. He raised an eyebrow. “Confident, aren’t you? Have you done this before?”

Even with his brain nearly fried, Anakin managed quite the sarcastic eyeball. “None of your business. And, no. But it can’t be that hard.” Anakin motioned at Obi-Wan again. “Come here.”

How so very like Anakin: there never was a challenge he wasn’t willing to knock down and wrestle into submission, no matter how unpalatable the task at hand. Anakin’s conviction, even when he couldn’t properly sit up, was magnetic. “You sure?”

“Do you want me to die before I get the cure?”

Obi-Wan turned to straddle Anakin again. “Now there’s an idea.” He was about to cringe at the crassness of bringing his crotch to Anakin’s face, but before self-consciousness could consume him again, Anakin reached for the front of Obi-Wan’s leggings. A warm, pleasant pulse shot straight to Obi-Wan’s dick; he blushed. Loathe as he was to admit it, Obi-Wan had to concede that there might be a sensual element to this cure. “Anakin, tell me if—“

“Stop worrying,” Anakin chided impatiently. With more innocence than Obi-Wan could have imagined, Anakin drew out his hardening dick and guided it towards his swollen, parted lips. Obi-Wan gasped, blood rushing towards his penis. He was fully erect even as Anakin’s hot, damp breath blew over his member. His hips twitched so violently he almost fell over. Groaning, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He could not let himself witness the obscenity of Anakin closing his mouth around his penis.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said. “Oh, Force—“ Heat and wet enveloped his dick. He’d known he’d have to come for this to work, but for it to feel so good— Obi-Wan braced his hands on the wall behind Anakin. Tried not to think about who was sucking on his cock, but he couldn’t help it, he could hear guttural sounds from Anakin’s throat. Felt him strong and fierce in the Force. Unconsciously, Obi-Wan reached a hand down and grasped a fistful of Anakin’s hair; clenched his hair like it was a salvation. “Anakin—“

But if Obi-Wan had been asking for mercy, there was none coming. Anakin moved his mouth up and down Obi-Wan’s cock, giving special attention to the tip. Obi-Wan knew that if he looked now, he’d see his pre-come shining on Anakin’s lips. Might even see the tip of Anakin’s tongue as he licked around the head of his cock. Obi-Wan shuddered, caught between pleasure and guilt. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was sexual. And, oh, it didn’t help when Anakin hummed— he was all around Obi-Wan, so hot, so wet, so Anakin. With a sudden jerk, he came right in Anakin’s mouth, unloading thick, sticky threads of sperm. And Anakin soaked it all in, taking in Obi-Wan as far as he could go. He swallowed mouthful after mouthful of come till Obi-Wan was spent, left with nothing but panting breaths and a limp penis lingering inside of Anakin.

It took Obi-Wan ridiculously long to come to himself, but as he recovered, he extracted his penis from Anakin’s mouth as delicately as possible. He couldn’t help but stare as Anakin wiped his lips with the back of his hand, sliding back down on to the mattress. Obi-Wan’s heart hammered in his rib cage. He wasn’t sure he could move. But no— to make this last any longer than necessary would be wrong. Obi-Wan all but jumped off the bed, body still shaking with the after-effects of his orgasm. He hadn’t come that hard since… since he could remember. If he let himself think about it, he’d marvel at how quickly he became aroused once Anakin took matters into his hands— his mouth—

No. No. They could put this sexual business behind them. The cure had been administered. Obi-Wan had done his duty by his friend, that was all. “Feeling better?” He forced a light tone into his voice. His fingers worked his laces with super-human speed.

“I think it takes more than twenty seconds to work, Master.”

“Yes, I imagine so.” But Anakin was already rolling over, eyes drifting closed. The poor boy. He’d already been drained. He must have summoned one last bit of reserve of energy to bring his Master off. At least he could be cured of the poison now. Obi-Wan hoped he’d sleep well and wake up without a fever. Quiet as the void of space, Obi-Wan left Anakin to sleep.

*

Obi-Wan returned to the medical bay. “He’s received the seed,” he said to the Medic droid.

“Excellent,” the droid chirped.

“How long until he starts to recover?” Obi-Wan asked. He had to update the Jedi council on how soon they could move on to the next mission. With or without them, the war raged on. It should be with them. And Obi-Wan itched to get back into action. Anything to cleanse his mind of what he’d had to do to Anakin.

“Hard to say. Depends on how well he responds to the seed. Another few more doses should bring the fever down.”

At first Obi-Wan thought he must’ve misunderstood. “Excuse me?”

“A few more doses before he can leave the bed,” the droid said slowly, as if speaking to someone slow of speech. "And he'll need more after that to completely eliminate the poison."

Obi-Wan covered his eyes with his hand and muttered. “Oh, for crying out loud.”

If he ever got his hands on the Separatists— well, he’d deliver them to a fair court of justice. But only because he was so true to the Jedi code.


	2. Chapter 2

In the ship’s engine room, Obi-Wan prepared a brief for the Council. If only he could focus— in the wake of administering the medicine to Anakin, he couldn’t help but shudder. His orgasm’s tremors ran through him, from head to toe. Physical pleasure lingered in him, like an alcohol-fueled buzz. It absolutely nauseated him. 

The med droid looked at him paused, its yellow lights flickering in a scan. “Your bio-readings indicate you are in considerable distress. Are you worried about producing enough seed for Master Skywalker? I can give you an injection that will ensure multiple orgasms in a brief period.” 

“That’s quite all right!” Obi-Wan exclaimed. He knew there were myriad ways to increase his seed production as well as the inevitable complications that followed. The user could become frenzied with lust. To submit Anakin to that— absolutely not. And after what had just happened in the cabin— Obi-Wan doubted coming up with more orgasms would be a problem. He had more than enough desire for Anakin. That in itself was a concern. It shouldn’t have been that easy to feel pleasure from his good friend, whom he’d trained, whose lips— 

Obi-Wan rubbed his hand across his jaw; repressed another shudder. He’d have to sort through his confusion. He just didn’t feel ready yet. Too many ugly truths to face. He took a few deep breaths to centre himself again. One thing at a time. “Thank you for the offer,” he said to the med droid. There was no reason to be short with the thing, even if it technically had no feelings and bore so much bad news. “But I don’t think it will be necessary. Please, take your leave. I have some communications to make in private.”

“Certainly,” the med droid said. “I will go monitor Master Skywalker’s progress.” 

“By all means,” Obi-Wan said. Let Anakin enjoy the the infuriating device’s attention. 

Alone now, Obi-Wan submitted the transmission communication. Within a minute, Master Windu appeared in a low-grade green hologram. “Master Windu,” Obi-Wan greeted.

“Master Kenobi,” Windu returned. “I’m glad to hear from you. We were worried when you missed the deadline for updating us on your mission, especially when days passed. It’s not like you.” As ever, Windu was calm and measured, but Obi-Wan could read his concern between the lines. There was a strain to losing Jedi to silence. So many had fallen alone in battle, unable to report their own deaths. Windu’s worry was that of one who decided the path of the and waited endlessly for news. 

Obi-Wan dipped his head. “My apologies, Master. Anakin and I ran into a group of Grievous’ droids. Anakin was considerably wounded and it’s taken us this long to get back to the ship.”

Even through the hologram’s gritty green, Windu’s alarm rang loud and clear. “Skywalker is injured?”

“Poisoned,” Obi-Wan corrected. “Our Med droid said he was probably shot with the dose. I’ll need the council’s help— I think the poison was designed specifically for him. Us.” 

“Do you have cause to think so? I know the Separatists fear his skills, but to engineer a poison just for him is extreme.”

Obi-Wan wiped his beard; the back of his neck. “It’s just so— calculated.” He had to report the facts, just as he had in so many other briefs. He’d delivered worse news than this. This was just embarrassing. But that was his emotions tripping him. He’d be clear and objective. “My semen is the antidote to the poison, Master Windu. The Med droid assures me it can only be administered via oral sex.”

Windu’s eyebrows shot up. “You sure the droid isn’t broken?”

Obi-Wan could only wish. “Before I had it diagnose Anakin, I ran the standard tests on it to make sure it hadn’t been compromised by the enemy in our absence. Its last programming update was from when we left Coruscant. When Anakin is past the fever, I’ll have him do a more thorough search.” Assuming, of course, Anakin even got better. If this were a ruse and forcing himself on Anakin was for naught— Obi-Wan stopped that train of thought. He was acting on the best information he had. “You see what I mean. It seems awfully personal. I want to know what Grievous is up to.”

“Personal is right.” Windu never once expressed mirth in Obi-Wan’s presence, it seemed suspicious that had suddenly had to cover his mouth with his hand. “But it doesn’t seem Grievous’ style at all. Send us the readings on Anakin’s blood and we’ll look into it for you.”

“I’ve sent it already.” 

“Good. I’ll have our healers look at it at once.” 

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said. “And as for our mission, I’m sure Grievous has long since left the solar system. We’ll await further orders once Anakin is better. It seems his, uh, treatment will take a few days.” Obi-Wan hated that he hesitated on the word. 

All amusement had left Windu’s face. “Understood. May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi.”

“You as well, Master Windu.”

With Windu’s hologram vanished, Obi-Wan tapped his fingers against the communication pad thoughtfully. Should he message Senator Amidala? She’d want to know Anakin’s status. Obi-Wan would’ve called her when he was at death’s door. Whatever else he thought of Anakin’s foolish decision to plunge so deep into attachment, he wouldn’t have denied either friend the chance for farewell. But, to the best of Obi-Wan’s knowledge, Anakin no longer faced imminent death. He was doing poorly, certainly, but he was supposed to recover. There was no reason Anakin couldn’t tell him herself once he was healed.

Besides, what could Obi-Wan say? Don’t worry about it, I’ll face-fuck your love into good health?

Obi-Wan dressed himself in his outer tunic. He needed to think and ships were no decent place for communing with the Force. 

Outside, the air was slightly cool. There was no noise but the drone of cicadas and the whistling of the wind through the pine trees. It smelled earthy, like fresh rain. This was more like it. He found himself a clearing in the trees and sat cross-legged. His connection with Anakin confirmed the boy would be asleep a while yet, Med droid runnings its scans on him or not. Obi-Wan could take the time to sort through his tangled mess of feelings. He needed to put himself in order before… well, being blown by Anakin again. He’d be no help in his current state. 

With deep breaths, Obi-Wan mindfully relaxed his muscles. He started with his head, smoothing his brow and unclenching his jaw. Slowly and methodically he moved down his body, from shoulders to deltoids, until even his ankles and toes were at ease. Filled with the fresh air and peace, he could’ve fallen asleep right where he was. The scent of pine helped ground himself outside his body. It reminded him of the larger picture. His small, petty problems were just that.

Receptive, Obi-Wan opened himself to the Force. Accepted its energy and certainty. Felt himself connected to a greater meaning.

The truth was— yes, he did desire Anakin. Obi-Wan had no idea how or starting when, but he did. Inappropriate? Certainly. Awkward and embarrassing? Without doubt. But with the flow of the universe coursing through him, he knew it was just one more manifestation of his flesh’s weakness. Nothing more. He could release these feelings right now. He could acknowledge them and let go. He’d already overcome so many other physical limitations. Daily, he pushed beyond pain and exhaustion. He’d rid himself of the longings held by humans. Greed and fear held no sway over him. Obi-Wan could rid himself of this lust before standing up. That easy. 

But that’d be selfish in its own right. He’d be putting his own self-image before Anakin’s health. This lust was undesirable, of course. Using it to save Anakin would be extraordinarily messy and probably change their relationship irrevocably. But Anakin’s life came first. This attraction— perhaps not a coincidence at all, it could even be a response to Anakin’s need— would help. If it was a blow to his pride, so be it. Better to face Anakin’s teasing than his funeral.

*

By the time Obi-Wan returned to Anakin’s room, his ailing friend was alone. Anakin had long since kicked the covers off the bed. He convulsed with shivers. His face was scrunched as though with a nightmare. In pure instinct, Obi-Wan bent to pick up the blanket but hesitated, the soft cotton folded in his arms. He stared at Anakin. He couldn’t help it. Anakin was simply beautiful. His friend was a sweaty, fevered mess; the muscle mass he’d lost in these days of sickness showed clearly in his hollowed-out chest. And yet.

Obi-Wan had always known about Anakin’s beauty. He’d rolled his eyes far too many times at how his apprentice preened at others’ attention; reminded him repeatedly against vanity. But he’d never felt it before. Not like now, when just looking made Obi-Wan’s throat tighten; he couldn’t help but shiver again in memory of the tremors from after today’s orgasm. He almost shook with the desire to touch. Where was this coming from? He wanted— he wanted to run his hand over Anakin’s abdomen, falling and rising with rapid breaths. Wanted to taste the sweat lining Anakin’s collarbone. Obi-Wan longed to cover Anakin’s body with his own and kiss, and— 

He settled for draping the blanket over Anakin’s vulnerable form. 

He waited.

*

Anakin eventually spoke out. “Is that you, Master?” He was hoarse.

“Yes, Anakin.” Obi-Wan said gently. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like Bantha poodoo.” Anakin coughed. “I’m thirsty.” 

Obi-Wan passed him a glass of water by the bed, probably left by that droid. Anakin struggled to sit up, but drank it in one long, greedy swill. In the silence of the room, his gulps were loud and clear. Obscenely so, to Obi-Wan. It was just like when— His throat tightened. Maybe he’d accepted his desire for Anakin, but he still hated to be turned on by his friend’s misery. “Any better?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin let the glass roll on to the floor. “Like wetter Bantha poodoo.” He slid back down to the bed, feeling his own forehead. “I don’t think your come helped, Master.”

Obi-wan’s heart wrenched. “Maybe not, my friend. But the droid said it wasn’t enough.”

Anakin stared up at the ceiling so long and vacantly Obi-Wan wondered if he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open. “I need more?” Anakin asked. “Is that what you’re saying?” 

“That would seem to be the case,” Obi-Wan said.

“What a weird medicine,” Anakin said to himself. “Are you good to go again? I’m tired of being sick.” 

How typical. Obi-Wan had wrestled for hours with the thought that Anakin would be forced to pleasure him orally again and again. And here Anakin was, instantly ready for round two when he couldn’t even bear to sit up. “Are you certain?” Obi-Wan asked. “I’ve messaged the Council, the Jedi healers have your blood readings—“

“Who knows if they’ll find a better answer?” Anakin asked indignantly. “No way. And stop asking if I’m okay, it’s not getting less annoying. Let me suck you off already.” 

Obi-Wan should not be as surprised as he was that Anakin’s rudeness both infuriated and aroused him. The cajoling for oral sex was horrifying alluring. “Have you ever considered thanking me instead of flinging insults?” Obi-Wan asked lightly. The joking material aside, this was familiar terrain. Back-and-forth teasing was a constant in their lives.

“Hardly. It’s not like you don’t get something out of this, by the way. You’re welcome.” 

Then again, being on the receiving end was less than fun when the barb hit a little too close to home. Obi-Wan sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.” He stood, ready to swing his leg and straddle Anakin exactly the same way as earlier. But Anakin grabbed his arm suddenly, and Obi-Wan nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Not like last time,” Anakin said. He held on fast like it was nothing, not noticing his touch burned Obi-Wan more deeply than the fever could account for. The warmth spread through Obi-Wan instantaneously. He didn’t know where to place his hands, or any part of himself, for fear of touching Anakin any more than necessary. Obi-Wan wanted more than anything to do things to him, foreign as that feeling was. And Obi-Wan had to accept and open himself up to that arousal— just as he had to keep himself from acting on any of his urges. For his own safety, Anakin had to dictate all the proceedings. Obi-Wan would allow himself only the absolute necessary, nothing more.

With his head becoming light from desire, it seemed impossible task. 

Anakin continued, oblivious to Obi-Wan’s internal struggle. “I got tired fast. I’ll lie down, you can—“ He waved a hand. “Over me.”

That Anakin was suggesting positions for oral sex— Obi-Wan did’t know how to begin to feel about that. “If that’s what you want,” Obi-Wan said in a measured voice. His cock definitely had a reaction, twitching at the easy way Anakin invited him into his mouth. Obi-Wan climbed onto the bed knees first, the toes of his boots digging into the mattress. “Go ahead, be picky.” He teased to hide his alarm. How could Anakin be this comfortable, ordering him like he was just another soldier to maneuver in a space battle? 

Anakin was too comfortable. Obi-Wan definitely wasn’t, not at all. Didn’t like that Anakin touched him with such ease or that he didn’t mind imagining positions for them. And Obi-Wan especially didn’t like that he was already half-hard. 

Obi-Wan moved up the bed as Anakin shifted downwards. Fuck. Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Had to remind himself that his attraction to Anakin was a good thing. That he should let his cock fill as Anakin brushed against him. It was okay that he’d gotten what he’d wanted, covering Anakin with himself. And it was more than okay that Anakin was saying what he wanted— 

He bit into his knuckles to keep himself from grinding down, clothes and all, into Anakin’s face. 

Hold back. Didn’t matter what he wanted. He was going to come, that much was clear. But he had to do it Anakin’s way. Control. Obi-Wan took in a shuddering breath. Accept the want. Rein it in. Anakin was fast in unlacing his Master’s leggings. Obi-Wan couldn’t see, but felt the pull of his pants against his ass; squirmed, hot from the attention. He bit harder into his knuckle, bearing his weight on his elbow. Held back a cry when Anakin finally, finally grasped his erection. Hadn’t realized how long he’d been waiting until it’d happened. It took him all his control to not shove his hip downwards for more. 

“You are good to go,” Anakin said. Was that satisfaction in his voice? Probably just pleased this’d be quick and easy. Anakin gave Obi-Wan’s hard length a couple of experimental strokes. “Glad you’re still virile in your old age.”

Any witty remark Obi-Wan could’ve fired off was lost as he bit his tongue. Oh, Force— Anakin wrapped his lips around his cock’s head, tongue teasing his slit— it was fire. Obi-Wan willed himself not to move, not to push. But as if issuing a challenge, Anakin sucked harder, swirling his tongue all around the tip. Obi-Wan clenched his fists. Kept his whimper to a controlled grunt. Not even that could mute Anakin’s sucking, or how the sound was becoming wetter and dirtier— how was Anakin so good at this? It had to be his intuition. He’d always had the darnedest knack for all things physical. 

The wet enclosure moved down Obi-Wan’s dick. Obi-Wan trembled. Could barely breathe. How could he come without hurting Anakin? He locked his hips in, and it was torture, because Anakin, fuck, was pressing his tongue along the throbbing vein along the bottom of his dick, and the tip of his cock, it was snug in the enclosure of the back of Anakin’s mouth, and it was exquisite, fuck— 

Obi-Wan gasped when cold air suddenly hit his dick. Disappointment rang in first, quickly followed by worry and guilt. It must’ve been too much for Anakin. He probably got caught in the moment and still shoved too hard. 

“Are you comfortable?” Anakin asked. His words were muffled by Obi-Wan’s crotch above him. “You’re not moving.”

Obi-Wan was so surprised he let out a chuckle. He’d been too successful in holding back, then. “No, Anakin, I’m not. I feel like I’m about to suffocate you.” 

“Then say something,” Anakin said indignantly. “How’re you going to come if you can’t get comfortable? Try turning on your back.”

Even sick as he was, Anakin still commandeered the presence and authority of a general. Not that Obi-Wan would’ve denied Anakin anything in preferences, not under these circumstances. Especially not when he was taking Obi-Wan’s own needs into account. Obliging, Obi-Wan rolled over. Couldn’t tear his gaze away as Anakin went down on him with the same drive as fending off an oncoming troop of droids. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered. A feeling gripped him, but in the haze of being pleasured, he couldn’t begin to identify it. It was something between dread and affection. 

“Relax,” Anakin said, and promptly engulfed Obi-Wan’s erection again. 

“Oh!” Obi-Wan exclaimed. His head fell back in the ecstasy of finally letting go. Anakin stroked his shaft in quick, easy strokes; fondled his balls with his artificial hand. The sight Anakin bobbing his mouth down and around the tip of his cock was the most lurid thing Obi-Wan had ever seen; he couldn’t look away if his life depended on it. His orgasm mounted as Anakin’s spit coated his dick and his fingers squeezed tight. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, and it might’ve been been an apology. Unable to take the onslaught any longer, he came, hips jumping off the bed. His pleasure watching Anakin tighten his lips around his dick and swallow, and swallow— incredible. 

The pleasure didn’t last long. Obi-Wan rolled away; he didn’t care to watch Anakin wipe his mouth clean again. He sat up and tied his laces, working in deep breaths and ignoring the orgasm still riding out in him. This ritual of mouth-wiping and lacing was becoming habit. 

“Master?” Anakin said. 

He didn’t want to turn back. He just wanted to walk out. But Obi-Wan forced himself to face his former student and meet his eyes. If they practiced that everything was fine and normal, then that too could become habit. The pretence might even become reality, one day. “Yes, Anakin?”

Anakin’s biological arm lingered over his bare stomach, stroking the skin there softly. Perhaps it was Obi-Wan’s imagination, but his lips seemed redder; swollen. They stood out in stark contrast against his pale face. His eyes were fluttering closed. “You could stay,” he said. “We have to do this again anyway. We could do it soon as you’re ready.” Unlike Obi-Wan’s own breathing, which remained haggard, his was steady and deep. 

To lie beside Anakin, waiting until he hardened again, inevitably, against Anakin’s hot flesh, and to roll into him for more pleasure— no, there was efficiency, and there was accepting his attraction to his former apprentice. But to share a bed with Anakin, that’d be surrendering to the wanton. He craved Anakin’s touch far too much. Obi-Wan had to maintain some semblance of boundaries. 

Gently, he pulled the covers back onto his friend. “Sleep, Anakin. I’ll be back.”

*

Grievous’ narrow skull face filled the screen, his nose almost touching the recorder. “Have you taken care of Skywalker and Kenobi?” he demanded.

“Yes,” the tactics droid answered. “They’ve been stuck on D’Aqui since we encountered them ten standard days ago.” 

“Stuck?” Grievous bellowed. “I want them dead!” 

“General, you requested, and I quote—“ the droid activated a voice-recording of Grievous snarling. “‘Get those Jedi off my hands!’” The recording ended. “I have accomplished just that.”

Grievous squinted into the recording device. “”What good is that when they start chasing me again, hmmm? Maybe I should have you killed.”

“I am not alive, so you cannot succeed in that goal,” the droid said. “However, my plan is working. We tried killing Skywalker and Kenobi through conventional means. We had them surrounded and they still countered all our blaster shots.” 

“Use bombs! Tanks! Anything!”

“We didn’t have either, general. But I did have a local moss. My data indicated a small dosage would either kill Skywalker and leave Kenobi so vulnerable with grief we could kill him— or that it would mire them so deep in their organic feelings politics that they would be rendered useless. My observation droid has found Skywalker’s life signals on this planet, so he’s not dead, but they haven’t fought us since.”

“But for how long?!” Grievous howled. “I am tired of them hounding me!” Grievous pointed a long, marble finger. “I will have a bomb implanted in you,” he warned. “And the moment Skywalker or Kenobi dare face me again, I will press a button and you will explode.” 

“Sir, that is your prerogative,” the droid said. No emotion came through its artificial voice box. “But I calculate the success of my plan at 99.86%. Depending on the outcome of their feelings politics, they may never bother the separatists ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone keeping track, I made a slight alteration to the previous chapter! The droid tells Obi-Wan that Anakin needs a few more doses to bring the fever down (instead of six) and a few more after that to completely eliminate the poison. More vague is more fun >:D


	3. Chapter 3

When Anakin finally woke up, he finally felt on the right side of being human. Sitting up didn’t make him dizzy. He felt… normal, temperature-wise. Not cold and hot at the same time. His stomach gurgled. He might even be hungry for something beyond clear broth. Anakin couldn’t even remember the last proper meal he’d enjoyed, it’d been so long— and his Master’s come _definitely_ didn’t count.

But he had something far more important to address than his hunger.

Anakin reached for his wristcomm. “Amidala,” he ordered. His wife’s beautiful face hovered above his arm in lines of green. Illusion or not, he stroked her cheek; pulled with a finger where he’d tug away a lock of hair from her complex headpiece. Padmé wore a neutral, almost harsh, expression. She always did in these privacy-compromised communications.

“General Skywalker,” her oldest message started. “It pleases me to report that our negotiations with the Wookiees are progressing well.” She launched into far too many details about the treaty discussions. As an excuse to stay in touch, it worked, but Anakin rarely listened to the content. He gazed into her eyes, feeling the ache of missing her deep in his chest.

The next few messages were just as boring. Still politics, still neutral expression. Anakin loved Padmé, including her brain and commitment to democracy. But he wanted _his_ Padmé, not the construction of Senator Amidala. She appeared in the cracks of a recent message. “Anakin, I would appreciate an update on your progress on the battle front.”

He knew why her worry had started to come through. He could go for days without replying, but never of his own will. Anakin would record hours upon hours of rambling monologue, if only he could. But between campaigns and watchful, judgemental eyes, he usually had to go a few days between messages. They had a pact, he and Padmé. He promised he’d always come back, no matter what. And she was not to worry. Anakin loved her all the more for breaking that pact, unable to stop worrying over him.

In her latest message, Padmé simply looked tired. “Anakin. I hope all is well with you.” That was it. A clear plea to end his silence.

But silence no more. Anakin put on his best cocky grin and started recording. “Padmé, I mean, Senator Amidala.” He had to choose his words carefully. Aside from a Jedi coming across this communication, this wasn’t the most secure of channels. The Separatists might intercept it. He couldn’t give away sensitive information about the war front, which included the fact that he’d been down for the count. If that intel got into the wrong hands, who knows what the Separatists would do with it. Nothing good, that was for sure. Anakin settled for, “All is well. Nothing to report.”

Anakin ended the message with a wink. Let any invasive and judgemental Jedi chew on _that._

His stomach tightened and gurgled again. No reason not to eat. Anakin called for AMS 7V-53. “Ams, can I get some food in here?”

“I am a med droid, not a butler.” it reminded him in its near-beeps.

“Isn’t eating part of my recovery?” Anakin asked, laying charm on thick. Maybe Obi-Wan would never understand, but droids were more than just circuits and electricity. They were just as sensitive as any organic creature. Treat them well, and they’d go beyond their programming to do the same for you.

Ams beep-muttered something like disapproval, but it came a few minutes later with an instant meal.

“Thanks, Ams.” Anakin’s first bites of the insta-protein were slow and cautious, but as his sore throat warmed up for something besides Obi-Wan’s dick, he ended up devouring the chunky stew in quick, tongue-burning bites. To his starving stomach, the bland meal was absolutely delicious. He scraped the bowl until not even the strains remained.

Food was good. Bed was boring. Anakin swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood to stretch. His muscles were tired and sore from the lack of use; random places on his body ached intently, the lingering effects of his fever. His body cried for more movement. Anakin was happy to oblige, stretching his hands over his head and bending to touch his feet. He’d need a couple of days to work up to his usual flexibility and speed, but he’d get there.

His muscles weren’t the only thing Anakin stretched. He reached out in the Force. What a rush, to tap in again. It brought roaring back senses he couldn’t even name. He could sense the hum of the ship in his mind; bathe in the reassurance that, far far away, Padmé was alright and safe. And, much nearer, Anakin knew with bone-deep certainty that Obi-Wan was immersed in tactical maps _again_. He didn’t need the Force to know that over the last few days, his Master had probably spent all his time studying and analyzing battle strategies— that is, when not sticking his crotch into Anakin’s face.

How many doses did they have left anyway? It wasn’t that Anakin minded. It was just weird. Not bad weird, not like stabbing the exploding insects on Wiffip or swimming through Unng swamplands. Anakin had definitely experienced worse than making his Master come. Just. Weird. He hadn’t expected to suck off the closest thing he had to a father over and over again.

“General Skywalker,” Ams said. “Your exercise is a sign of your improvement, but try not to over-do it.”

“I know my own body, I’m fine.” Anakin waved Ams off.

“Very well. May I still have another blood sample? I want to update your antigen count”

“You a droid or a vampire?” Anakin asked, but it was with a grin. He offered his flesh arm. “Knock yourself out, buddy.”

It was with Ams’ injector piercing the inside of Anakin’s elbow that Obi-Wan came in. “You’re up!” He exclaimed, his eyebrows rising in surprise. A warm smile was quick to follow. He crossed his arms and stroked his beard. “And getting attacked by droids even on our ship.”

“What can I say, Master? I’m irresistible.” Anakin returned the grin.

Ams pulled the injector from the arm. “I am attacking no one, and I find no one irresistible,” it said. It rolled to the wall-datapad and got to work. Its turned back expressed worlds of disapproval over their maligning him.

“Don’t mind Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “He’s just a grumpy old man who can’t deal with technology.”

“I see you remain as flippant as ever.” But Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkled happily. Once upon a time, Anakin would’ve said that this was the closest his Master would ever come to throwing a party. His Master was a strict, disciplined man, quick with words and sarcasm but weighted with the highest expectations Anakin had ever faced. With him, it was duty first, second, and last. That’d be the one good thing about these last few days— Anakin got to see new ways Obi-Wan experienced and expressed joy. Pleasure was actually a good look on his Master.

Truth be told, Anakin didn’t really remember much since his fevered trek in the forest. It was more feelings than anything. Obi-Wan hauling him on his back. Feeling safe, even in enemy territory and so sick he couldn’t stand, because of the fierce and protective waves rolling off his Master through the Force. Obi-Wan would never let harm come his way. He’d sooner die. There was nothing to worry about. There were the hours of lying in bed, twisting in the sheets, feeling hotter than standing under Tatooine’s sun at day’s peak. Aches riddled his body, hurting his chest, thighs, even the back of his knees. Anakin shivered to remember. Just _existing_ had been torture.

Obi-Wan’s short and frequent visits had punctuated the misery. An odd tingle struck Anakin to remember his Master’s darkened form entering the room, head bowed and shoulders tense. Each visit brought Anakin the hope of breaking the fever; the comfort of his friend’s company. The blow jobs were weird and Obi-Wan was super uptight and way too guilty about the whole thing, but Obi-Wan himself was fine. It would’ve been nice if Obi-Wan hadn’t scurried away so quickly each time. His Master had a soothing manner when he wasn’t busy running his mouth off with advice. Anakin would’ve felt less alone even if they hadn’t exchanged a single word.

A casual glance over Obi-Wan’s body reminded him of peeling off those same clothes; coming so close to his skin, close enough to kiss and fondle. The heat and girth of his Master’s hardened cock in his mouth. An ache in Anakin’s jaw twang, a muscle memory of opening so wide and for so long. A feeling came back as well: the want to help get Obi-Wan past… whatever was holding him back, and just _come_. But the memories were distant and vague, like a dream fading in the morning.

“Tell me, Ams, does it look like I need to suck off Obi-Wan any more?” Anakin asked. He absolutely noticed the reproving look Obi-Wan and how he crossed his arms tighter. Whatever. Obi-Wan was getting the better end of the deal. He got to enjoy orgasms aplenty while Anakin’s life was just saved. His Master could deal with all the teasing Anakin threw his way.

Ams’ head twisted to face them. “Yes. You still have a low grade fever and your blood results indicate that your antigens are still too high. I recommend ingesting more of the antidote.”

Anakin shrugged. More blow jobs it was.

He was suddenly hit by the dismay rolling off his Master. What was _his_ problem? Whatever. He was probably getting prissy over violating some obscure tenant of the Jedi Code. Thou shalt not consort with thine Padawan or something just as stupid. Well, Obi-Wan was welcome to tie himself into as many knots as he liked. That was his business. Anakin smacked fist into hand. “But I’m cleared for missions, right? Lemme at ‘em!” Killing a few hundred droids sounded good right about now.

“Absolutely not!” Ams said. His voice box didn’t allow for expression, but it sounded almost scandalized. “Didn’t you hear what I just reported? You have a low grade fever and your antigen levels are dangerously high. I cannot authorize you to do more than light exercise.” As Ams rolled out, Anakin could’ve sworn it muttered something about impaired human logic panels.

“Let’s ignore it,” Anakin said. Sure, his throat was sore and he felt like sitting down, but so what? “The Separatists haven’t been napping all this time! We’ve got work to do.”

“No, Anakin.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “Lamentably, that infernal thing knows more about your condition than the two of us combined. If it says you can’t go, then you stay. I can’t have you relapsing on me.”

Why? Because relapsing would mean even _more_ physical contact? Scowling, Anakin threw himself on to the bed. “Fine. Then update me. What’s new on the front?”

“You’d know if you checked your comm,” Obi-Wan said. With a tap, his wristcomm displayed a map of the local solar system. “The Jedi Council has confirmed Grievous left this sector even before you collapsed from the fever.”

“Always on the run.” Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll get him.”

“ _If_ we’re sent after him. For now, we have a different assignment.” With another tap, the hologram zoomed into D’Aqui, the planet they were currently on. Red flashed north of their ship. “The Separatists have opened a new mining operation here. If we can remove their resources, that’ll significantly decrease their droid output. As soon as you’re cleared for active duty, we’ll destroy the mines here.”

They had with them no clones, nothing but their modest start ship, R2, and the two of them. “Piece of cake,” Anakin said. He pointed at Obi-Wan’s crotch. “Well. My antigen levels aren’t going to take care of themselves. You in the mood?”

Obi-Wan sighed even as he untied his laces. “Not terribly, but I take your meaning. Where do you want me?”

Anakin pointed out the leather-padded seat. “Now that I can get out of bed,” Anakin said cheerfully. He insisted on a different position each time. He claimed it was to find the most comfortable one, but really, it was to keep things interesting. As long as he had to bring his Master off, it might as well be _fun_. And new was fun. His favourite position thus far was when they’d both been on their sides, affording Anakin unfettered access to Obi-Wan’s crotch. Obi-Wan had really lost it, shaking and groaning and thrusting into Anakin’s mouth. It was extremely satisfying to have his Master, the perfect Jedi, wordless and writhing, no better than anyone else. Turned out he was human after all.

“This isn’t a game,” Obi-Wan said. But he sat down with a straight back, his arms parallel to the arm rests. So prim and proper. But Anakin could see brown-ginger curls at the top of his unlaced tunic. Could see the bulge in the cotton just below. Anakin swallowed, mouth suddenly watering. Truth be told, Anakin was impressed at Obi-Wan’s vitality. He’d always known his Master enjoyed his share of night excursions; knew what “Going out” meant on a rare break in Coruscant. Anakin had even caught Obi-Wan subtly admiring other male humans. He had needs, that was cool.

Anakin just never expected Obi-Wan’s drive to be so… _relentless_. They’d been doing this for, what, a couple of days? And he couldn’t even remember all the times they’d done it, much less keep count. And yet Obi-Wan’s cock just _sprang_ up, hard at a touch. Anakin didn’t have a lot of metric for comparison, but he’d only ever been that horny as a newlywed with Padmé when they couldn’t get enough of each other. When just the thought of her left him aching with need.

He kneeled in front of Obi-Wan; tugged his pants open wider, helping release his cock. Sure enough, it was hardening already. He was quite becoming quite intimate with Obi-Wan’s dick. It’s not as if Anakin had never seen it before— as Master and Padawan, they’d dressed and undressed in front of each other all the time. There was no place for bodily shame amongst the Jedi. Even now that they didn’t share quarters, they still regularly bathed together in natural bodies of water when a ‘fresher wasn’t at hand. Obi-Wan’s stout dick was familiar enough to Anakin. Growing up, it’d been a point of interest. Compared it to his own a million times. Just one more way he wished to be like his Master.

“You sleep around a lot, Master?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan had been looking off to the side, pretending to be anywhere but here, but he snapped to attention. “Excuse me?”

“You sleep around a lot?” His Master’s dick fit snug and tight in his fist. He squeezed his balls with his mechanical hand; Obi-Wan practically jumped. Nice. “Just can’t imagine how you keep your libido in check if you’re not having sex all the time. You’re, like, an animal.”

Obi-Wan seethed. “That’s none of your bu—“ His rebuke was cute off by a moan. Fondling his balls always had that effect. Anakin made to continue his soft, rhythmic touches; watched as Obi-Wan tilted his head back. Pity this was just touching and blowing. Exposed like that, his throat was quite kissable. What noises would he make if Anakin sank his teeth right there, where his jugular jutted? A flush warmed Anakin, one entirely different from the fever.

Now _this_ was new.

With a shuddering breath, Obi-Wan spoke again. “That’s private, Anakin.”

Anakin scowled. “I’m holding your dick and you want to talk _privacy_?” Typical. Obi-Wan never trusted him. Even if the blow jobs were just for the antidote, this was some intimate stuff they were getting into. You’d think getting orgasms would mean _some_ sharing. But clearly not for the high and mighty Obi-Wan. Force Forbid his Master show any more humanity than necessary.

“Yes, please, Anakin, if you wouldn’t mind.” Obi-Wan’s lips were pressed into a thin, hard line.

Anakin did him the favour of engulfing half his dick with his mouth. So much for Obi-Wan’s stoic posturing. Obi-Wan choked, fighting to keep a deep groan down. Anakin watched as he bit his thumb, eyes closed with focus. Maybe Obi-Wan would never see him as his equal, whatever. He’d always treat Anakin as lesser. But Anakin remembered what got Obi-Wan off, and he could do it again.

His pre-come was hot and click in Anakin’s mouth. Salty and bitter. Anakin lapped it up, paying special attention to the crown of Obi-Wan’s dick. Smirked at the strangled noises coming from his Master; how his thighs tensed. Obi-Wan was under his mercy. In the mood for a tease, Anakin withdrew his mouth; moved to kiss the flesh just under Obi-Wan’s abdomen.

“What—“ Obi-Wan asked. His blinking eyes were glazed.

“Just helping you along,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan’s flesh was warm, soft yet firm. His pubic hairs tickled his chin. “It’s been taking you longer, you just need some buildup.” Strong drive or not, Anakin was pretty sure it was taking Obi-Wan longer to come. Probably getting exhausted. “ _Relax_.”

Obi-Wan leaned back into the chair, muttering unintelligibly. Anakin had heard that lecturing tone often enough to know he was probably disparaging Anakin’s common sense, judgement, or some combination thereof. Well, Obi-Wan could judge _this_. He moved down to mouth Obi-Wan’s balls and stroked the base of his shaft. Was that whimpering from Obi-Wan? He certainly hoped so. Slick from his own spit, Anakin’s hand built up speed.

His Master’s taste was so strong, tongue to his flesh like this. Anakin breathed in deep through his nose. He was so used to Obi-Wan’s scent he’d half-forgotten it. But up close and personal like this, it was brand new. It was Obi-Wan, all right, but more private; muskier. Mixed with the smell of his own spit. Balls deep in his Master and yet it wasn’t enough. Anakin sucked at Obi-Wan’s skin, _needing_ more. Hearing his Master give a low keen, Anakin groaned in response.

Wait, what? Anakin’s groan sounded foreign to his own ears. That was _really_ new.

Keeping the pressure and speed on stroking Obi-Wan’s dick, Anakin snuck a hand into his own pants. He was half-hard.

There wasn’t a lot to think about. Anakin was too distracted by his Master’s needs. Mouthed Obi-Wan’s dick, taking in as much as possible. Drool ran down his chin, dribbled down his throat. Anakin stroked himself fast. It was like a holovid porno. Normal to get turned on by his Master’s arousal. The more Anakin sucked and bobbed his head and licked, the harder he got. Good. No fair if Obi-Wan got all the fun. His biological hand was wet from his leaking cock. Fuck. Anakin groaned again, rocking his hips. Yes. _Yes_.

Obi-Wan startled. Stared down at Anakin, eyes wild and wide. For a glorious moment, they locked gazes. That glance— it was stronger than than any touch, more electrifying than a bolt. Anakin tingled under his Master’s scrutiny, his mouth and hands filled with their cocks. He wriggled. He could _feel_ Obi-Wan equally affected. Felt it in his tremors; heard it in Obi-Wan’s cry. “Anakin, you’re—“

Gobs of warm seed splattered into Anakin’s mouth. He soaked it all in, delighted. Was near coming himself. His pulse thudded low and strong. These past few days he’d consumed so much of Obi-Wan’s come, but always with the hope of feeling less sick. Not this time. _This_ was something shared between him and Obi-Wan. Anakin’s heart sang.

Obi-Wan stood up at once, yanking his softening cock from Anakin’s lips. “ _What’_ re you doing—“

Anakin looked up. Hand on his throbbing dick, his mouth overwhelmed by Obi-Wan’s taste, he felt vulnerable. He _never_ liked feeling like that. Vulnerable was weak and at enemy’s mercy. “Making you come,” he said.

“I mean—Anakin, get your hand out of your pants, this is a _medical_ procedure.” Obi-Wan waved downwards. “That’s hardly appropriate.” In mere seconds, his clothes were all done up and proper. As if he hadn’t just come at how turned on Anakin was at sucking him off; hadn’t practically begged for Anakin’s touch. As if Anakin had imagined that split-second connection.

What the fuck just happened?


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as the door shut behind him, Obi-Wan leaned back against a wall, hand over mouth. Tried to stop shuddering from arousal and self-revulsion. It was impossible. These past few days he’d lived in a near-constant state of physical pleasure, each breath rekindling sexual tension. He burned like fire. A result of so many orgasms, of opening himself up to his lust for Anakin. Obi-Wan had accepted, quite against his will, his inappropriate and all-consuming attraction to his apprentice. He’d been at peace with wielding these unsettling feelings— all to help Anakin. Anything to save his life. 

Except he’d created a new problem. Obi-Wan shut his eyes; curled into himself. How could Anakin have been— this wasn’t supposed to be _sex_. There was no place for Anakin to pleasure himself. It was meant to be a _cure_. He wasn’t supposed to— unbidden, the memory of Anakin’s lustful gaze came back. Obi-Wan bit his tongue, as if that’d curb his painful arousal. The image of Anakin’s hand in his pants, his expression sensual and shameless, was seared into Obi-Wan’s mind. He couldn’t help it. 

In that split second before the implications set in— oh, what a relief, that Anakin _enjoyed_ him. Wasn’t revolted by Obi-Wan’s desire. Obi-Wan knew at once Anakin longed for him; liked sucking him off; craved his touch. And, oh Force, even after days of intense sexual gratification, nothing had been more satisfying. Obi-Wan had wanted to throw himself down on Anakin and give back all that he’d received; to kiss, and grind, and grant Anakin release however he desired. The galaxies help him, Obi-Wan had never wanted anything or anyone so much. He couldn’t have stopped from orgasming at Anakin’s pleasure any more than he could keep a star from exploding into a supernova. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Obi-Wan choked back bile. He couldn’t begin to list all the ways this development was _wrong_. Copulating with your Padawan was grounds for instant expulsion from the Jedi Council. And with good reason: what an abuse of power. How inappropriate. Obi-Wan had _raised_ Anakin from the age of nine. They were comrades as Jedi and in battle, but you couldn’t erase the ten years they’d shared as student and teacher. Anakin was Obi-Wan’s _responsibility_. 

Of course, exceptions could and had been made in the history of the Jedi. Intercourse was allowed in extenuating circumstances. Saving a life clearly fell within those parameters. But to have Anakin respond in kind and treat it as anything other than a cure— it was inappropriate. Entirely unacceptable. Obi-Wan trembled, whether from continued orgasm after-shocks or worry, he couldn’t tell. He was already walking a fine line, trying to tame his raging lust into a constructive result for Anakin. If Anakin introduced his own pleasure into the equation, then whatever act they were performing became far harder to define. And Obi-Wan couldn’t have sex with Anakin. Absolutely not. 

He had to get a hold of himself. These recriminations would do neither them any good. Obi-Wan forced himself to stand straight and squared his shoulders. No matter how hard it was to control his reactions, he must still reign himself in. 

It was just that Obi-Wan had never predicted this turn of events. What about Anakin’s lover? Obi-Wan held no illusions about Anakin’s relationship with the Senator. He doubted that whatever their arrangement was, that it included banging former teachers. Obi-Wan knew how besotted Padmé was and could only imagine her dismay if her lover was trying to get off with someone else. If _he_ , someone _not_ in the relationship, knew she probably didn’t want to share, how could Anakin be so casual about giving himself a hand job with Obi-Wan? For Force’s sake, Anakin just didn’t think sometimes. Wasn’t getting tangled with Padmé attachment enough? What good could possibly come from fucking his Master? Hadn’t Obi-Wan taught him _anything_?

(He knew the answer to that: he’d taught Anakin attack forms, how to assemble a lightsaber, and countless other trainable skills. But he’d never succeeded in teaching him to _think things through_ , curse smelly, muddy Bantha hinds.)

Obi-Wan laid a hand over his heart. This was going to get messier before it got better.

 

*

What was Obi-Wan’s kriffing _problem_?

In a clearing just outside the ship, Anakin engaged in his sanctioned ‘light activity,’ i.e., practicing kata. It involved a lot of air punches and kicks, which he demonstrated with great vigour. His hair whipped around his face as he executed a roundhouse kick. A _medical_ procedure. The fuck. You could dress a sand worm in a ballet suit but it was still a stupid sand worm. What he and Obi-Wan were doing was _sex_. Okay, so it’d been a bit forced on them, but fuck, the way Obi-Wan looked when he realized Anakin was touching his own dick— that wasn’t forced _anything_. Anakin would stake his life on it. Two people getting off on touching each other? Fucking, pure and simple.

Punch, back step, lunge, punch. D’Aqui’s morning sun was weak and wilted, but Anakin had already stripped down to his pants, soaking in sweat. If he weren’t so damn _hot_ he might make sense of his Master’s inscrutable mental calculations. Stopping Anakin from coming— Obi-Wan didn’t want to be fucked back, clearly. But _why_? Was Anakin not good enough for the high-and-mighty Obi-Wan? Some rule against _former_ Padawans?

Anakin broke the kata’s flow and grasped his head, heaving to get enough air. He just didn’t get it. It’d be such a small gesture to let him come. He was already blowing Obi-Wan— so what if he jerked off? He hadn’t even asked Obi-Wan to return the favour (though he might’ve, if given half the chance). How was it right for Obi-Wan to come over and over again and wrong for Anakin to touch himself just once? What a hypocrite. What _bullshit_. How hard would it be to say, “Oh, I see I’ve turned you on by having you suck on my cock, how can I help?” Wouldn’t that be the polite thing to do? Obi-Wan was supposed to be such a gentleman, the refined General Jedi Master Kenobi. His Master was just _unfair_. 

Weren’t they past this? He and Obi-Wan were a _team_. Two Jedi fighting for a common cause— unless, apparently, that cause was orgasms. Then only Kenobi got to do the victory lap. A shiver suddenly ran through Anakin, a brief respite from his building heat. Was Obi-Wan using him? Wasn’t Anakin worthy of basic respect? An old, tattered fear gripped him, of never being able to catch up to his Master. As a newly-minted Jedi, no matter how much raw power Anakin held, it felt like he’d never reach Obi-Wan’s cool, controlled perfection. He’d trained his ass off to hammer himself into the fastest, strongest Jedi alive; to stand by Obi-Wan’s side as an equal. Every time he thought’d finally fucking succeeded, his ex-Master found a way to put him down. 

Anakin had to sit, already out of breath. No stamina. His head felt weird, like he needed to get back in bed. He growled. That stupid poison. It made everything so complicated and now it kept him from the things he liked. Anakin flopped onto the grass, willing the Force to give him the energy to move.

 

*

Anakin lay in the field for who knew how long, heaving for breath and head swimming. The blades of grass pricked the bare skin of his back. The soft wind over his chest dried the sweat covering him. Eventually Anakin dragged himself back to the ship, leaning against the walls soon as he could. The ship’s durasteel was cool, comforting, and hummed slightly with the oxygen systems hidden within its frame.

He started his slow path back to his room, edging along the walls. As he passed the engine room, he heard voices. Who was Obi-Wan talking to? He stopped at the open doorway. Even if Obi-Wan wanted to keep secrets from him, Anakin wouldn’t allow it. 

Dr. Boll’s amphibian face was projected through a hologram. She waved her hands enthusiastically. “The good news is, we’ve isolated the protein in your seed that provides the antidote.” 

Obi-Wan’s back was to him, but Anakin could hear practically hear him frowning. “So no cure as of yet?” 

Her hands stopped waving; she pulled them in, miffed. “No, if that were the good news, I’d have started with that. We know which protein to reproduce, but it’s truly complex— a biological marvel, really.” Her voice lilted with wonder. 

“I’m glad our predicament brings you such fruitful research,” Obi-Wan said dryly. 

Anakin scowled, still skulking in the background. There it was again. _Predicament_. The nearly dying part sucked, but what was so bad about the rest? He didn’t announce his presence, wanting to see where Obi-Wan led the conversation. 

“Oh, if it weren’t yours, it’d be someone else’s. At any rate, we’ve isolated the protein, but it’ll take time to recreate it, especially if we can only use the materials available in the area.”

“Time? How long?” Obi-Wan asked sharply. Anakin felt his throat tighten with anger. Obi-Wan made it sound like _he_ was the victimized one. Anakin simply didn’t understand where all this resistance was coming from. He clenched his teeth and fists, re-energized by the frustration roiling in his gut. 

“This is science, not magic,” Dr. Boll said. “We can’t just snap our fingers and get a cure. There’s no way to say how long it’ll take.” 

“Not even an estimate? Days, weeks?”

“No, General Kenobi. Of course, the amino acids are easy enough to bring together, but the protein folding is so elegant, it won’t be easy to recreate.” She chattered happily about the details of her work, oblivious to the mounting tension in her audience. “With any luck, it’ll be just a few days. But it’ll probably take longer— a few weeks, or maybe a year.” 

“A year?” Obi-Wan’s voice was faint with dismay. 

“You’ll probably be done administering your seed before I can synthesize the protein.”

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment, thinking. “And what if I stop?” 

The question was a bucket of ice water over Anakin’s head. For Obi-Wan to resent the blow jobs was one thing. But to even consider putting his life at risk— Forget being former Padawan and Master or brother-in-arms. Weren’t they at least friends? On missions and in the war, they had each other’s backs. Anakin had assumed— perhaps foolishly— that it would extend in more personal settings as well. Forget the not fucking thing. This struck at the core of who they _were_. 

“You can’t stop now! General Skywalker would relapse!”

“In other words, he would die,” Obi-Wan said flatly. His next words were so quiet Anakin almost didn’t hear him. “I understand. Thank you, Dr. Boll.” 

“Goodbye, General Kenobi. Best of luck.”

The transmission ended. Obi-Wan stroked his beard as if about to go deep into thought, but Anakin refused to let him. He strode in, riding high on his rage. “Sorry I’m such a burden,” Anakin spat out. He took cool pleasure in how Obi-Wan startled. He desperately looked guilt in Obi-Wan’s expression, but if anything, once the surprise passed, he was simply resolute. Anakin was so tired of that face. He _knew_ his Master was man and flesh. 

Anakin pressed harder, wanting to goad a reaction. He used every solid inch of height to tower over Obi-Wan, jutting out his chin. Was well aware how much skin he exposed, still in nothing but his pants. Hoped Obi-Wan would notice, feel the heat radiating from him. “Sorry it’s so hard to get sucked off by me.”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s tone held his familiar, all-the-galaxy-weighs-on-my-shoulders weariness. He did not shift or react to Anakin’s increased proximity. He just tilted his head to look up at Anakin. “You know better than that. It’d just be simpler if we had a cure that didn’t involve you ingesting my semen.” Obi-Wan paused. “I can’t believe I need to explain that to you.” 

Anakin opened his mouth, ready to fire off a counter-argument, but none came. His lips came together in a line. Damn Obi-Wan and damn his infuriating sensibleness . “You don’t have to act so put off by it,” Anakin muttered, the best he could come up with. He backed off. Under Obi-Wan’s strict gaze, he felt unreasonable and dense; cut down to size. There was no way he could voice his complaints about his Master refusing him to fuck him back. Anakin tried to swallow the words, but they lodged in his throat, sharp and uncomfortable.

He tensed when Obi-Wan suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder. Anakin looked at the floor, not ready to make eye contact with his former Master. Obi-Wan’s grasp was firm. Anakin tingled in all the places he wished he would use that same firmness. Down his chest; down his abdomen. Anakin shuddered.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “You’re not going to be difficult about this, are you? Please tell me you understand it’s not appropriate for us to—” He hesitated.

“Fuck?” Anakin said sullenly. 

“I was going to say be more physically intimate than necessary, but yes, that too.” 

Anakin snorted and purposefully bumped into Obi-Wan as he walked away. 

Obi-Wan sighed behind him. “Where are you off to, Anakin?”

“Getting ready for our mission.” 

He didn’t need to turn to know just how high Obi-Wan’s eyebrows reached. “You’ve been cleared for duty?” 

Anakin’s head was still swimming. He was drawing on energy reserves he didn’t have and he didn’t care. “I’m walking, I’m talking, that’s good enough for me.” He needed to blow something up. It might as well be the Seperatist’s mining operation. 

“I can’t talk you out of this?”

“Nope.” 

“Then count me in.” 

 

*

Destroying the mines was laughably easy. Pity Anakin was in no laughing mood.

Putting the bombs together was about as much as he could handle. Not that they came to D’Aqui with a proper set of bombs, expecting to chase Grievous down for hand-to-hand combat, but it wasn’t anything Anakin couldn’t build in his sleep with enough ship fuel and spare parts. He could make things go boom, all right. Except he’d barely got started siphoning the fuel into containers before collapsing. 

Obi-Wan had been there, unfortunately. He’d rushed to Anakin’s side to check for damage, kneeling and grabbing his arm. Anakin swatted him away, annoyed. “I’m fine,” he said. But Obi-Wan still got a palm to Anakin’s forehead. Anakin’s stomach dropped. He pushed the offending hand away. “I _said_ I’m fine.” 

It was too late. Obi-Wan stood straight, judgement in his rigidity. “You’re burning up, Anakin. You’re overdoing it.” 

It’d been years since Anakin couldn’t keep up with Obi-Wan physically. As a twelve year old, he could already best his Master in sparring. At seventeen, he’d been taller. And he’d always, always driven faster, more recklessly. True, Anakin was warm; the heat felt like shame. “The Separatists aren’t taking a break while I’m sick, Obi-Wan. Let’s get this done.”

For all his bravado, he’d had to oversee Obi-Wan create the bombs, down to arming the detonator. He couldn’t stand on two legs long enough. 

Obi-Wan finished the last one; wiped his forehead clean of sweat. Dully, Anakin watched. The memory of Obi-Wan’s taste filled his mouth. At least, the taste of the sweat from Obi-Wan’s crotch did. Anakin wasn’t sure if he’d smell differently elsewhere. There was no one scent to Padmé, even after a shower. He loved sniffing her whole body, eliciting giggles where she was ticklish. Anakin doubted he’d ever get to kiss Obi-Wan all over, much less hear him giggle. 

“You sure you don’t want another dose of the antidote right now?” Obi-Wan offered. Anakin hated the gentleness in his tone. As if Anakin were breakable. “It might make you feel better.”

In no shape or form did Anakin want to come near Obi-Wan’s dick. Not if Obi-Wan was going to be a jerk. “We’re in the middle of a mission, Master. Aren’t you the one who’s always harping about the right time and place?”

Obi-Wan quirked one eyebrow up. After so many years together, Anakin knew exactly what he was saying without a single word: This is a mistake, but it’s yours to make; I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces after. Always the judgement. Well, fuck him. Except _don’t_ fuck him. 

Anakin couldn’t even plant the bombs through the mining site. He’d had to let Obi-Wan do all the work while he stayed on the ship, messaging him if he spotted any particularly large groups of droids. A fucking message relayer, that’s what this fucking poison reduced him to. It wasn’t even a _hard_ mission. Far as they’d seen, there were only battle droids. They couldn’t ‘roger, roger’ their way out of a prism of explosives.

For that much, at least, Anakin dragged himself off the ship. He stood beside Obi-Wan and pressed the trigger. Boom. 

“Nicely done,” Obi-Wan said. The flames lit his face orange and crimson. Ache twisted Anakin’s heart, looking at him. Had Obi-Wan always been so striking? Anakin felt like the sand dunes of Tatooine, forever shifting and blowing in the wind. Whereas his Master was firm and resolute, like the mountains of Geonosis. “The bomb you designed is perfect.” 

Anakin grit his teeth. As long as it was for destruction, he could get Obi-Wan’s approval. Sometimes it really sucked to have been his Padawan. “I don’t get why you stopped me from coming,” Anakin blurted out. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes seemed darker by the light of the flames. “I know, Anakin.” 

Anakin’s hands twitched. He wanted to grab Obi-Wan by his collar; to shake him until words and sincerity finally rattled out. Anything to knock Obi-Wan out of this Sith-damned stoicism. But Obi-Wan would never given in to such crude efforts. Anakin settled for simply asking: “Then _tell_ me.” 

“There’s no reason to make this more than it is.” Obi-Wan spoke with the gentle, polite facade of The Negotiator. All politics, confidence, and no personality. Anakin reached out through the Force; saw how strong and high Obi-Wan had set the barriers to his emotions. He was hiding something— himself. “Let it go, Anakin.” 

Anakin tilted his head towards Obi-Wan’s. Saw how his Master bit his lip. Saw anxiety flit across his otherwise impassive face. With a flash of insight, Anakin suddenly knew. “You feel it too,” he whispered. Whatever ‘it,’ was, it was between them. Anakin wasn’t alone in this strange new feeling that just made him want to be _closer_. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “I do.”

He raised his palm towards Obi-Wan’s cheek; felt the roughness of his beard. Anakin’s heart beat slow and heavy. He could kiss Obi-Wan right now. For all the times he’d mouth-fucked Obi-Wan, they hadn’t done that one simple thing. Anakin licked his lips. Bent down towards Obi-Wan. 

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan said, his eyes opening wide. 

Anakin yanked his hand back, burned. “I don’t understand you!” Anakin let hurt bleed into his cry. “Why do you make everything so complicated?”

“I’m trying to keep it _simple_ ,” Obi-Wan pleaded. He raked a hand through his hair, grief heavy in his voice. “I wanted to spare you, Anakin.” 

A mining structure collapsed behind them, billowing smoke towards them. “Then why does it hurt so much?” Anakin whispered.

Obi-Wan grasped Anakin’s face; touched his forehead against his. Anakin trembled from the contact. He could feel Obi-Wan’s breath against his cheeks; the slide of his Master’s fingers in his hair. He covered Obi-Wan’s hands with his own, trying to draw him in closer, but to no avail. Anakin almost cried out from frustration. “I don’t know,” Obi-Wan exhaled. “I just don’t know.” 


	5. Chapter 5

They returned to the ship, Anakin’s arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder for support. He stumbled every few steps, heaving for breath. They were right back where they started. Obi-Wan held Anakin round his waist, taking on much of his weight. For the first time since this ridiculous antidote circus had begun, the simple touch didn’t incite desire in Obi-Wan— just worry.

“Are you sure you don’t—” Obi-Wan started.

“Not if you don’t—” Anakin interrupted, but stopped for another deep breath.

There was no need to finish their sentences, anyway. They each knew what the other meant. His stupid, stupid dear friend. “Well, it’s your funeral,” Obi-Wan joked. If only he could— but that’d be to spit on every ideal he’d ever held. Either to force himself on Anakin, which he literally couldn’t, let alone repeatedly, or to encourage the intimacy Anakin so craved.

“I’ll be sure to invite you,” Anakin wheezed.

Inside the ship, Ams met them with a scanning beep that sounded like a cluck. “I warned Master Skywalker not to overdo it,” it said. “I don’t even need a blood test to know his antigen levels are too high.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Anakin said. He managed a tired smirk for the droid. Why bother wasting energy on that stupid machine? Obi-Wan just didn’t understand him sometimes. If he was going to wait out for an antidote, he needed to save every bit of energy.

“I recommend as many doses of seed as Master Kenobi can produce,” Ams said, rolling beside them as they trudged back to Anakin’s quarters.

“Thank you, Ams,” Obi-Wan said curtly. “That will be all.” It wheeled away, making an observation that Obi-Wan couldn’t make out but sounded snide with the distance.

Anakin slid from Obi-Wan’s grasp and onto his bed. “Thanks for helping, Master.” He didn’t even bother to come out of his many layers, just closed his eyes. It didn’t look comfortable at all. Without thinking, Obi-Wan bent to unfasten Anakin’s shoulder plates, undressing him like he had so many times when he was a Padawan and fell asleep in a chair from sheer exhaustion. Anakin blinked at the touch. “Master?”

“I’m just— I figured you’d want your armour off. That’s all.”

“Ah.” Anakin shifted to help Obi-Wan with getting the armour off. The plates slid off easily.

He still wore his robes, but Obi-Wan figured Anakin could take care of that himself. “Anakin, what’s your plan?”

“Hm?”

“If you don’t— how long do you plan to refuse medicine?”

“Not medicine,” Anakin murmured sleepily. “Your come.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Regardless. What’s your plan? We don’t have any promise of an artificially produced antidote. If you don’t want my help, then just waiting is suicide.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me to trust in the Force?”

“There’s trust, Anakin, and then there’s taking unnecessary risks.”

Anakin nestled into the bed. “I’m sure it’ll work out.”

“Somehow?” Obi-Wan asked, exasperated.

“Somehow. I’ll just rest first.”

What else could Obi-Wan do? “Sleep well, Anakin.”

*

 

Obi-Wan startled awake, jolting into sitting. He panted, pupils dilated against the darkness and heart hammering away. He brushed a hand along the back of his neck; he was drenched in sweat. He didn’t need to reach under the covers and into his pants— he already knew. He was outrageously hard.

The dream— oh, Force, so lurid. He’d dreamt of Anakin. Anakin, looking at him coyly through long lashes. Anakin, sliding into his lap for a deep kiss. And from there— every manner of indecent act. Anakin using those full lips to finally kiss him everywhere, his chest, his throat, his navel— everywhere _but_ his rock-hard cock. Anakin flipping over and watching over his shoulder as Obi-wan pried open his butt cheeks and licked from the base of his balls all the way up; listened to Anakin's keening for an especially desperate wail before swirling his tongue over his opening—

Obi-Wan did not think of himself as a prudish man by any stretch of the imagination, but remembering the details— he flushed. Thoroughly. 

As he had every morning since this damn antidote business began, Obi-Wan worked to let the images go. To lose his erection. His body was the easy part. It was his mind that wouldn't let go. As quickly as he released mental images into the Force, more arose, like slicing heads off a hydra. First the erotic and obscene, such as tongue-fucking Anakin’s ass. His fantasies became gradually less sexual until all he was left with was holding Anakin in his lap, kissing lazily and long and taking his time to stare at his features up close—

These images of unabashed affection disturbed him the most. But Obi-Wan was nothing if not determined. Eventually he was free of the haunting images and his hard-on. When they'd first started the antidote, he was able to release these thoughts quickly enough. It was becoming harder and taking longer to do so as the fantasies became more elaborate. Anakin expressing his own interest had _not_ helped matters. 

Whatever it was that Anakin wanted from him, it surely wasn’t any of this. Not the obscenities or the shameless affection. 

(Though Obi-Wan half-wondered if the dream was evoked by any longing from Anakin— No. He squashed that thought. These feelings were his and his alone.)

Anakin. What was he going to do about him? _None_ of the options before them were viable. Forcing himself on Anakin was impossible; letting him die was unthinkable. Which meant either— Obi-Wan rubbed his jaw. Ideally, Anakin would change his mind and accept keeping things as simple as possible. Somehow he couldn’t imagine Anakin making it that easy, though. Once he set his mind on something— someone— the Galaxy have mercy, he’d never seen Anakin let go. 

Well. Maybe he should listen to Anakin for once and believe the Force would show them the way. For the first time in what felt like forever, Obi-Wan smiled. Listening his former Padawan’s advice— would wonders never cease? 

*

 

“We’ll need to refuel before leaving the Outer Rim,” Obi-Wan said. A map of their quadrant was displayed in front of them.

“Right,” Anakin said. 

Obi-Wan eyed him at this atypically uninterested response, but continued. “Zorkstein is the closest planet, but it’s under Separatist rule. If you weren’t about to die of fever, I’d say we could risk it.”

“Yeah.” His eyes were glazed, jaw slightly slack. 

“On the other hand, Lith, part of a neutral system, might be just out of reach. We’d have to reconfigure the ship to not run out of fuel before getting there— or maybe you’d like to spin about the in space, waiting for rescue?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Obi-Wan sighed. Proving a point wasn’t just as satisfying if his audience was too out of it to notice. “Anakin.”

His dear, foolish friend turned to look at him as if in slow-motion. “Huh?”

“You can’t avoid it forever.”

Anakin swayed on his feet. “Maybe I can.”

Obi-Wan hesitated. Any kind of touch seemed to bother Anakin. He took his chances and clasped Anakin by the arms, as much to steady as to comfort him. At first Anakin jolted, but then he leaned a bit, head tilting forward. He must’ve gotten much, much sicker. “Please, Anakin. I hate seeing you like this.” Despite the support, Anakin still wobbled like a Zaer on stilts. “It’ll help you.” Obi-Wan tried an encouraging smile. “Don’t make me try to give you my seed through an IV.” 

“Will you—” 

“No, Anakin.” 

He sank forward. Obi-Wan folded him in his arms; he felt so light, like he was withering away. “I don’t feel good.”

“I can tell.”

Anakin wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan. It was like the bear hugs he gave Obi-Wan while still an apprentice. Anakin buried his face in his hair; half-nuzzled him. “Okay.” 

Oh, thank the Force. Obi-Wan held himself back from burying his face into Anakin’s shoulder. Kept any other signs of relief from showing. Keep it simple. “Let’s go, then.” Anakin nodded into his hair.

*

 

Obi-Wan sat on the edge of bed, having picked the position; Anakin hadn’t the heart to make the choice.

It’d been so easy to accept Obi-Wan’s proposal, when his arms had been tight around him. When Anakin could feel his warmth and giving as sure as Tatooine’s suns. Now, though, Anakin could add nausea to his list of symptoms. This idea seemed worse by the second. But what else could he do? Obi-Wan wasn’t wrong. If he wanted to feel better, this was the only way out. It wasn’t as if Obi-Wan was going to bend on his view. He never did. 

If only he could talk to Padmé on a private channel. She always knew how to make him feel better. Better yet, as long as he was wishing for the impossible, he wished she were here, right now. He’d sink his head into her comforting breast and she’d stroke his hair. “Ani,” she’d whisper. Then it wouldn’t matter that Obi-Wan refused to lower his standards to touch Anakin, no matter what he felt. 

“Shall we?” Obi-Wan asked. His tone was so nonchalant, like none of this mattered. Like they were picking which form to practice sparring in. Always acting, always pretending. Anakin might know better, but it didn’t make it any less aggravating. 

Anakin sank to his knees between Obi-Wan’s spread legs. He’d done this before. Open pants, pull out dick, suck. Easy.

An overwhelming wave of nausea overtook Anakin.

“Anakin?” 

He shook his head. “I can’t, Master.” 

Anakin didn’t know if he’d ever seen Obi-Wan look more dismayed. “You said—” 

Still between Obi-Wan’s legs, Anakin shifted to rock on the back of his feet, restless. “I know.” His hands slid onto Obi-Wan’s thighs, wanting and needing touch. Muscles tensed under his fingers. “I thought I—“ He couldn’t help but remember. Having Obi-Wan under his mercy, squirming, thrusting. It wasn’t _enough_. “You don’t know what it’s like.” Anakin stared at the floor. “Listening to the noises you make, Master, moaning and begging—“ 

For all his complaints about Obi-Wan’s noises, he was now strangely silent. Anakin continued, his words a torrent. “It’s _torture_ , Master—“

“That’s enough,” Obi-Wan said so softly it was as if he’d mouthed the words.

But Anakin couldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted to. “And to have to sit there and suck you like I don’t matter, it’s… it’s killing me.” He looked up. His Master was pale and speechless. Anakin felt hot pleasure. He’d never seen Obi-Wan so shaken he couldn’t speak. It was amazing. Finally, _finally_ , he could get to Obi-Wan. “I’m not doing it, Master. I can’t.” 

They stared at each other for a long pause. A stalemate. Anakin let the moment drag on, daring his Master to react. 

“What do you want from me?” Obi-Wan asked, voice low and raw. 

Everything. But Anakin could negotiate. His hands lowered to Obi-Wan’s knees. Clenched them. “You won’t kiss me.” 

“You know the answer to that.” 

He hadn’t expected any different. Still. He needed _something_. Just to prove that Obi-Wan wasn’t just taking, and taking. Anakin needed to _know_ , bone-deep, that he meant something to Obi-Wan. “Will you give me your honesty?” 

Obi-Wan would’ve shifted further back into the bed hadn’t Anakin’s grip on his knees been so firm. “When I have I ever lied to you?” 

Lies of omission. Lies for his own good. With all those, Obi-Wan was practically _made_ of lies. For all the best intents and purposes, of course. Anakin didn’t want lies for protection. Never had. “I mean, if I ask you a question, don’t just beat about the bush. Just answer me directly.” Obi-Wan leaned back as if trying to wriggle away. “Can you do that for me?”

From the way Obi-Wan hesitated, Anakin was sure he’d say no. Wasn’t sure what he’d do when the rejection came. Sink into the ground, probably; surrender to anger. He was too sick to control his waves of emotion. 

But Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “Yes. I can.” 

Anakin blew out a long breath. Raised himself back to his knees. He was close enough to kiss Obi-Wan’s jaw, if he tilted his face just so. Where to start? There was so much he needed to know. “Do you _want_ to kiss me?” 

Obi-Wan shifted his gaze; licked his lower lip. Anakin wanted to run his thumb over it, see if it was as soft as it looked. “I have no idea why—“ 

“ _Directly_ , Obi-Wan.”

There was a hitch in Obi-Wan’s breath. “Yes.” 

Tension eased in Anakin’s shoulders. He hadn’t even realized how tightly he’d been clenching his back. “Do you want to do more than kiss me?” 

Obi-Wan gulped this time. Anakin slinked in closer, hands moving back up his thighs. “Yes.” 

“Do you want to fuck me?”

“Do I—”

“You promised, Obi-Wan.” 

Something like pain flitted across Obi-Wan’s face. Or maybe it was desire. Anakin had seen him frown like that when touching his cock. Like his feelings were more than he could bear. “Yes.” 

Anakin gave a slow, smug grin. He glowed from the inside. His Master wanted _him_. Not just a random guy. Not just any warm mouth and hands. Him, Anakin. But this still wasn’t enough. He needed more. Without thinking, Anakin palmed the inside of Obi-Wan’s thighs. His Master didn’t make a sound, not even a whimper, but Anakin couldn’t miss the growing bulge in his leggings. “Fuck me, like, how?” 

Obi-Wan turned his head away. “What a question, Anakin. Do you want diagrams?” 

“Sure, sounds great.” 

He clenched the sheets. With that much pressure, he could crush durasteel. “Then just pull out a holo-encyclopedia. It’d take less time.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anakin asked, but then he understood. He blushed, remembering the various positions he’d looked up as a preteen. How he’d come back again and again to the entries that interested him most. Obi-Wan couldn’t possibly mean _all_ of them. Not— though that would explain his antsiness. How much thought had Obi-Wan given this, anyway? “That’s, um—“ 

Obi-Wan wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Exactly.” 

“That’s hot,” Anakin said. 

His Master jolted. He couldn’t have looked more surprised if Anakin had dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. “It’s not supposed to be _hot_.” 

But he’d had enough of Obi-Wan’s metaphorical hand-wringing. Whatever was supposed to be or not, he didn’t care. “I’m ready now,” Anakin announced. Before Obi-Wan could come up with any more objections, he pried into his pants and engulfed his Master’s hard, ready dick. He sucked fast and mercilessly, wanting one thing: to make Obi-Wan give _in_ to him. 

“Slow— oh, Force, Anakin, Anakin—“ 

Obi-Wan curled so far his chest arched over Anakin’s head; his moans were continuous and loud, fingers prying through his hair. Fisted Anakin’s curls. His hips rocked into Anakin’s mouth; fucked him, even. Obi-Wan’s cry, alarm and desire mixed as one, spurred Anakin on. 

Encyclopedic— damn. He’d have to look up his old favourites again.

*

 

Holy stars. His orgasms seemed to stretch into infinity. Obi-Wan spasmed, voice and body out of control. “Nnnngh,” he gasped, doubling over. Fuck, it did _not_ help how Anakin kept sucking, like he wanted and expected him to come a second time with no wait in between. “Hhhhngh,” Obi-Wan groaned. Without meaning to, he pushed Anakin further down; got a fresh jolt of pleasure. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. 

As all things do, the orgasm passed, leaving Obi-Wan panting and raw to the touch. Anakin’s mouthing brought soreness. “That’s, that’s—“

Anakin bobbed his head up. How could someone so sick look so bloody pleased with himself? “Done for now?”

For now? Obi-Wan cringed. “Yes, quite.” Anakin wiped his hand across his mouth. He’d taste of him, he knew. No. He did not need to be lewd. 

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Anakin asked. 

He’d revealed far more than he’d ever meant to; he’d sketched for Anakin the outline of his depravity. And yet here was Anakin, cheerful and content, none the worse for the wear. It was, Obi-Wan suddenly realized, a relief. A burden off his shoulders. Anakin hadn’t been repulsed by the extent or intensity of his attraction. Hadn’t been broken by it. “No, I suppose not.” 

Then again, it wasn’t exactly a good thing, either, that Anakin was turned on by his desire.

One problem at a time.

“You’ve still got your dick out, by the way.” Anakin waved at his crotch as he stood up and stretched. “Not that I mind.” 

“Ah. Thank you.” Obi-Wan dressed himself. “I should get us ready for departure. See if I can get our ship to make it all the way to Lith.”

“Lith?" Anakin asked. “We got enough fuel? I don’t wanna get stuck spinning in space.” Obi-Wan chuckled. “What?”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, that’s all,” Obi-Wan said. “If you’re up for it, help me reconfigure our engine systems and make them efficient enough for the journey.” 

“Sure. Master?” 

He caught Obi-Wan just as he was leaving. “Yes?” 

“Will you keep your promise?” 

There it was again. It was a dangerous contract, this promise. Not that Obi-Wan ever lied.It was just better to present the truth in the best possible light. From the wrong perspective, information became dangerous. To answer Anakin as straightforwardly as he wanted could cause a lot of damage. And yet, Obi-Wan had to concede the payoff had been well worth it. “You’ll keep taking the antidote?”

“Yeah.” 

“Then nothing’s changed.” 

*

 

“ _Destroyed_ ,” General Grievous howled. “A whole mining operation down to ashes! Dooku will have me strung up for this!”

“I did not have the resources to stop two Jedi,” the tactics droid replied. Its tone could be nothing but neutral. 

Grievous shook his head. “You had your chance, droid. You said Kenobi and Skywalker wouldn’t come after me. You’ve _failed_.”

“That’s incorrect, sir. I have not failed. You asked me to take them off your hands, and I did. They haven’t come after you.”

“How’s it better to be torn apart by Dooku _because_ of what they’ve done?”

“I’m certain Skywalker and Kenobi are well on their way out of this war,” the tactics droid said, calm as ever. “That must be worth more to you and Dooku than a measly mining site.”

“How can you be so sure, hmmm?” Grievous pressed his face and finger to the screen. “Do they not live? As long as they’re alive, they won’t give up. No Jedi worth their salt would.” He jabbed repeatedly at the droid. “Finish the job! Get back on the ship and blow them to pieces!”

The droid could not evade a direct command. “Yes, sir.” 


	6. Chapter 6

It was as if they were Master and Padawan all over again: Anakin was made of questions and Obi-Wan struggled to keep up.

“How many partners have you had?”

“I didn’t keep track, Anakin.”

“Ballpark. One? Ten? Ten million?”

“I don’t know! …Not ten million.”

“Have you ever slept with a woman?”

“Never.”

“Why?”

“Never wanted to.” 

“Who’s your favourite Jedi on the council?”

“I don’t have a favourite Jedi, Anakin!” 

“But if you were in the fight of your life, who’d you want at your back?”

“You, of course.” 

That shut Anakin up for a while. But the questions continued unabated before long.

“Have you slept with any other Jedi?”

“Yes, all of them.” 

“What! …No fair, Master, that wasn’t honest.”

“Fine. No. I have not. And I haven’t slept with you, either.” 

“Okay, but really, who’s your favourite Jedi on the council?”

“I don’t have one!”

*

Anakin tinkered with the ship configurations. A linked wire here, a bolt tightened there— he lost himself in the uncomplicated language of mechanics. The tools and pieces were a comfort in his hands, familiar and reliable. He knew exactly what each wrench could do and how. R2 worked solidly near him, adjusting settings through his port jack and periodically updating Anakin on his progress. One series of beeps went personal, though.

“Thanks, R2. I missed you too.”

The next series of beeps was sharper. 

“I am not falling apart. I just got sick, that happens sometimes to us non-droids.” He tilted his head play-thoughtfully at R2’s response. “No, you’re right, Obi-Wan is a fuddy-dud.” He chuckled. Probably better not to share this particular conversation with his Master. 

The task done, Anakin wiped his hand clean of oils on a cloth. He sighed with the satisfaction of a job well done. This was the most at peace he’d felt in days. Obi-Wan was busy in the other room. He had a few minutes. “Any messages from Padmé?” 

Even in his wristcomm’s shoddy transmission, his wife was mesmerizing. Graceful. He watched the movement of her lips, the tilt of her head. He hurt to bursting from missing her. If only he could hold her, and nuzzle her throat. Feel her warmth, and breathe in deep her scented perfumes— huh. All pretty much the same things he wanted to do with Obi-Wan.

Anakin didn’t know what he’d tell her about this whole fucking Obi-Wan business. But it should be okay. Padmé was the one person in the galaxy who accepted him as he was. Who knew his every flaw and accepted him as he was. What he’d ever done to deserve the adoration of such a perfect human being, he had no idea, but this much he knew as sure as his own name: Padmé loved him. His heart was hers. He’d make sure she knew that. 

“Get better, Ani,” she’d say, if she knew his situation. “I need you to come back to me.” 

He would, he swore.

*

In the cockpit, Obi-Wan charted their route to Lith. Anakin was nearly recovered, thankfully, but if they could squeeze their mileage to a planet without the war, it was better to avoid a conflict. Obi-Wan couldn’t risk Anakin suffering another relapse from exhaustion. He resisted the urge to review Ams’ latest readings again. The information wouldn’t have changed. Anakin’s antigen levels were much better. Before long, they could stop the medication.

Anakin would never touch him again. Not like that. Never for pleasure. 

Obi-Wan pushed the thought away. He had no business regretting losing Anakin’s mouth-fucking. It’d been an abomination. It was well past time to put this antidote business behind them and resume their duties. Once he could stop indulging his misplaced lust, he’d be able to seal these feelings off once and for all. He could be at peace with himself again; return to being the proper, serene Jedi he imagined himself to be.

…He didn’t want to let these feelings go. 

Ridiculous. He was just made of foolish thoughts today. Obi-Wan pushed this idea away too. 

He might as well fight the tide. 

The door swished open and in came Anakin, dressed down to his undertunic. Oils stained his clothes, streaked across his cheek. What a mess. Obi-Wan could not but feel a surge of fondness; an itch to wipe the grease from his face. Instead, he turned back to the map. 

“I’m done modifying the defence systems,” Anakin said. “Not that I like going out without shields.”

“Hrm, well, it was the only way to save enough fuel, wasn’t it? Long as we stay off course from the Separatists, it shouldn’t be a problem.” Obi-Wan waved at the map and the course plotted on it. “I’ve confirmed the presence of all ships from here to Lith, it should be clear sailing.” 

A grin lit up Anakin’s face. What joy, to see him happy again. Obi-Wan couldn’t even be mad at himself for his excess affection. “Time to take flight?”

“Unless you want to stay longer here,” Obi-Wan said. 

“And get more moss poisoning? No thanks.”

With impish glee, Anakin took the pilot’s seat, ran a hand over the panel of controls, re-familiarizing himself the panel, and smirked. Obi-Wan had just about enough time to hold on to a surface before they were off, Anakin driving with all his usual caution. They rocketed off the planet and into space, stars streaming into streaks as they sped into hyperspace. Anakin’s exaltation at flying came through the Force in waves, pure and strong and exhilarating.

When Anakin was cured, their camaraderie would be enough. It’d have to be. 

“Hyperspace achieved!” Anakin crowed. He twirled triumphantly in and out of his chair, describing circles in the small cockpit. 

“Yes, yes, it’s quite the— oh!” Anakin ended a circle with his arms around Obi-Wan and spun him about, laughing. All of Obi-Wan’s attempts to numb himself to his affection flew out the window; his heart filled with tenderness. How could it not? Anakin’s smile was all charm and impulsiveness and everything Obi-Wan had ever loved about him. 

Everything he had ever—

Oh, fucking Bantha offspring, how had he never realized it before? 

As if sensing Obi-Wan’s surprise, Anakin’s smirk grew. With a step and gentle push, Obi-Wan found himself against a wall, a hand snaking into his tunic. “Nothing but space for hours,” Anakin said with all the subtlety of a tauntaun in heat. “Wanna fuck?” 

Obi-Wan had clearly lost control over both his emotions and his mind. Of all the people in the galaxy to fall in love with. “For the millionth time, we are not fucking,” Obi-Wan said as best he could, what with Anakin cupping his cock. “And to answer your actual—“ his voice caught, suddenly airless from Anakin’s ministrations. “Actual question, yes, I can—“

“Come?” Anakin asked, lifting an eyebrow. Great. He was getting smug. “Yeah, I noticed.” 

“But does it have to be here?” Obi-Wan groaned, equal parts desire and annoyance. 

“Why not? Don’t worry, Master.” He leaned in and Obi-Wan couldn’t help it. He shivered with want. “I’ll get every last drop.” What could Obi-Wan do? He let the man he loved drop to his knees and bring him pleasure.

*

Long minutes passed, Anakin sucking and fisting and fingering. His Master whimpered, clearly ready to come, but nothing happened. Just lots of precome and drool running down Anakin’s chin. His lips were swollen and his knees were crazy sore. He liked getting Obi-Wan to come, but it was starting to feel like an exercise in futility. He drew away and despite his lack of success, Obi-Wan still emitted an uncharacteristic whine at the separation. “Master, what’s the problem?”

Obi-Wan shuddered, eyes closed. An onslaught of images and sheer longing overcame him. To pin Anakin against the floor; to stare him deep before ravaging that infuriating, cocky, amazing mouth. To feel Anakin’s tongue with his own. To touch and be touched, at long last. “Nothing,” he gasped. 

Suddenly he felt Anakin’s breath, warm and moist, against his cheek. “This isn’t nothing. What’s on your mind?” It was not so much a question as a demand. 

Obi-Wan buckled. Eyes sprang open wide, desperate. He had to answer. “You.” His flexed his hands against the wall, as if to claw himself out of this situation. Out of these feelings taking over him. 

“Then why do you look like you’re in hell?” Anakin could sense the waves of desire rolling off his Master. Anyone looking at the writhing mess he’d become would think him the one poisoned with the need for sex as a cure. Something was wrong and he couldn’t read Obi-Wan’s mind and learn the answer. He brushed his flesh hand against Obi-Wan’s cheek. “Tell me.” 

If his Master had ever pleaded, it was with that one look. “Don’t, Anakin. Please.” 

To back out of their contract now— Anakin’s voice darkened. “You promised.” 

Obi-Wan’s lips moved, but whatever words came out were drowned out by a sudden and deafening alarm. Red lights spilled across the room announcing intruders and danger. Anakin was running before conscious thought, battle-ready blood pumping through him. He reached in the Force for the source of danger— damn it, he’d been so wrapped up fucking Obi-Wan he’d let his mental wards down, he should’ve been aware of any danger before it happened— and ran towards the sounds of R2’s screeches. 

In the engine room, R2 was engaged in a mortal game of tug of war. His screeches resounded off the walls, louder than the sound system. A blackened, oil-slick form had wrapped him in a metal cord and was pulling and twisting, while the cord spat electrical sparks. Without thinking, Anakin drew his lightsaber and sliced through the cord, cutting it cleanly. Metal clattered to the ground, sparks of electricity sputtering from destroyed cords. The immediate danger was taken care of. “Anything else on board, R2?” Anakin asked. R2 beeped back a negative, and the alarm siren turned off. 

The door slides open again, this time letting Obi-Wan in. He was more red-faced and out of breath than the short distance between rooms warranted. “What’s the issue?” 

R2 beeped in a long, anxious stream. 

“Oh, Anakin, why can’t these machines get a proper translation mechanism?”

“If you could speak binary, you wouldn’t have this problem,” Anakin said. “And, shhh, just because you suck at languages doesn’t mean we all do.” He listened to R2, prodding at the fallen metal pieces with his foot. “There was an enemy droid onboard. It tried to set up a bomb in the engine, but R2 got to it first.” With a kick, a solid chunk of ink-black droid skittered across the room. 

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan rebuked. “One, we might need that droid back in one piece. Two, do we really need a mess?” 

So typical. He saved their lives and all Obi-Wan could do was complain. Anakin rolled his eyes. Sometimes he had no idea why he longed for Obi-Wan’s affection so much. “Since when do you feel pity for droids, Master?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, kneeling by the fractured bits. “Not pity, Anakin, but we need whatever intel was on this thing. Who sent it? How did it get onboard? Did it send any of our data to the Separatists?” 

R2’s beeps were petulant. “He says of course not, he got to it before it reached any of the data jacks.” Another loud, angry beep. “And you’re welcome, by the way.” 

Obi-Wan tried a gentle smile. “Forgive me, R2. And thank you.” He was still frustrated at having been taken so off-guard. If he hadn’t been so deep in his emotions— but he’d only ever allowed that because of Anakin. Because he’d never let harm come to him, no matter what the cost. Well. This was the cost. He truly needed to sort himself out before any more damage came their way from his unmoored heart. “Anakin. Get this thing’s memory storage out and upload it.” 

“Why?” Anakin pushed. “You heard R2, it didn’t even get to our databanks.” They spent enough time hacking droids to pieces with this war. They were up to their elbows in droid parts. A dead enemy was a good one. No reason to go rooting through its remains. 

“Aren’t you even a little curious who sent it?” 

“Grievous or Dooku, of course. Same difference.”

“Is it? What if it knows where they are?” At Anakin’s hesitation, Obi-Wan nodded. “There you go.” 

“Okay, but it’s not like we can snap our fingers and get it all sorted out.” Kneeling, Anakin started rooting through the pieces. “There’s probably encryption, and traps. If I’d designed this thing, I’d put in viruses to take over our system—“ 

“Yes, yes, it’ll be difficult. But I expect you’ll have a good time.” 

Perhaps that was a poor choice of words. Anakin paused his digging. “Master. We were caught completely off-guard.” 

He had to sigh. “Indeed. We’re lucky R2 wasn’t as… distracted as we were.” Add that to all the proof why the Jedi didn’t allow attachments. Letting himself get so entangled in his ridiculous feelings for Anakin could’ve cost them their lives. As Master, what a horrible example he was giving Anakin. How could he expect his former Padawan to walk the right path when he’d strayed so far? “We can’t let it happen again.”

Anakin shot him a sharp look. It was both menacing and fearful. “Are you saying we have to stop?”

“Not until you’re cured, of course.” 

Stopping. Anakin returned to picking through the pieces, motioning for R2 to help him gather the relevant droid parts. Of course they’d have to eventually stop fucking. The idea was to get better. He just hadn’t thought that far ahead. He didn’t know why he’d started to think differently. “Whatever you think is best, Master.” 

Obi-Wan had the distinct feeling this topic was hardly over. But they had other priorities at hand. “Let me know when you’ve got the droid’s information up and running.” 

“Aye, aye,” Anakin muttered. He’d forever be the Padawan to Obi-Wan’s Master. He should just accept his fate. Why would he ever hope for anything different?

*

Obi-Wan found it harder to sink into meditation while in space. With the void all around them, there was less life to connect to. Qui-Gon had done his best to teach him how to reach out across the vast distances to find stars, and how even the emptiness of space channeled the Living Force. Even so, Obi-Wan preferred meditating with more life around him.

But he needed the calm meditation brought. In the quietest space he could find, his own quarters, Obi-Wan sat and crossed his legs on the cold metal floor. He slowed his breathing. Repeated calming words. Checked in with his status. His nerves screamed at him, all jangled up. Stress hormones overflowed. How could he have been so lost. Unable to detect an enemy presence as it boarded their ship. He’d been deaf to its murderous intentions. If not for a machine, he and Anakin could be dead by now, taken in the middle of their tryst. 

What a farce. All this time he’d been posturing about opening himself up to sexual desire just to save Anakin’s life. How helpful would that have been, if they’d died in an explosion. He’d have made Anakin endure his lust for no good reason. And no matter how much he rejected Anakin’s crude claims of fucking—they were. From the very first blow job, he’d been fucking his Padawan. He could dress it up in the most noble and self-sacrificing of language, but the fact remained. Obi-Wan had wanted Anakin carnally and acted on that desire. Worse— he’d gone ahead and fallen in in love with him. 

Anakin deserved a better Master. No wonder he’d maintained so many unhealthy attachments, with Obi-Wan to give such a poor example. His actions and decisions were his own, of course, but that didn’t undo Obi-Wan’s part. He’d failed Anakin. Failed as a teacher and friend. 

Obi-Wan had to start to let these feelings go. Now. As he should’ve in the forests of D’Aqui, when he first confronted how much he wanted Anakin. He must trust in the Force to see them through Anakin’s poisoning. He’d take the damn medication that droid suggested and produce seed physiologically instead of through attraction. He had to let go of his affection and—

He didn’t want to.

It didn’t matter what he wanted. He’d indulged himself far too much already. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Reach out. Find his connection to the whole. His pain and desire will pass. It will fade away. Listen to the Force. Follow its guidance.

Anakin would be so let down. Obi-Wan could see him now, crestfallen. He wouldn’t understand. He’d see Obi-Wan’s return to professional distance as a rejection. He’d take poorly to losing Obi-Wan’s physical touch. Wouldn’t accept Obi-Wan stepping back from the affection he’d been unable to hide thus far. Anakin might not forgive him. But that had to be alright. They’d go back to how they were and in time, Anakin would become accustomed to to the distance again. This would help him. Help train him in letting go. 

Grieve not. Rejoice in taking the right path. Celebrate— oh, but it hurt. And would Anakin ever truly be able to just let go? 

Obi-Wan straightened his back and drew in another deep breath. He’d just have to keep trying.

*

“Anakin, do this. Anakin, do that,” Anakin mimicked to himself, imitating Obi-Wan’s Coruscant accent. R2 chirped in support. “I don’t know why I let him get to me, R2.” Because Obi-Wan had been his teacher and role-model. Because his praise, damn it, was addictive. And because— he wanted to be close with Obi-Wan. He hadn’t been thinking much past the immediate moment, but whatever his own opinion was worth— and clearly the answer to that was “not much”— he’d pick to continue. Screw the antidote, screw the rules, and screw Obi-Wan. It was fun and Anakin didn’t want to stop.

He smiled wryly at R2. “Guess I am a bit of a basket case, huh.” 

A re-built droid stood before them, shorter than R2 and with more arms and appendages than Ams. Bristles covered all its rounded appendages and body, some longer and spikier than others. Its original frame was too melted from Anakin’s lightsaber to be re-used, so Anakin fit the memory, personality, and functionality drives into the skeleton of a vent-cleaning droid. It meant being down an actual vent-cleaning droid, but no biggie, they’d pick one up together with more fuel on Lith. 

“You sure you reprogrammed its alliance functions down to the core?” Anakin asked R2, who buzzed with irritation. “No, I’m not calling you incompetent, I’m just double-checking before I turn this thing on and it tries to beat us to death with brushes. We’re good? Okay.” 

He slid the droid’s switch. First was a quiet hum, all his pale green lights turning on. Then, a deeper hum. “BT7L5V reporting for duty,” he trilled. Red lights for motion scanners moved along his frame. “I seem to be broken physically, but my reports indicate I am functioning at complete analytical capacity. Please take that under advisement.”

“Hi, there. Thanks for the update.” For a murder machine, he wasn’t so bad. Anakin squatted before it. With the thistle edges and roundness, he was actually kinda cute. “Your name’s a bit of a mouthful, so let’s go with BT for short.” 

“As my name does not affect my productivity, I have no objections,” BT said.

A literal-minded thing, then. Anakin liked them that way. It was a break from the mind-bending confusion of organic protocol. “What brings you here, buddy? Why’d you try to blow us up?”

“General Grievous sent me.” Anakin sucked in a breath. It really had been Grievous. “He wanted you and Kenobi out of his way.”

“Are there any other bombs on the ship? Anyone else targeting us?”

“No, no other bombs. And everyone in the Separatist army wants you dead.”

Anakin smiled at that. He was proud the enemy hated his guts so much. “Thanks, BT. That helps.” He turned to R2, and rubbed the top of his dome affectionately. “Good work with the programming, buddy with the reprogramming. You’ve earned yourself a good polishing.” R2 beeped that, yes, yes he had.

He had enough to bring to report now. He radioed Obi-Wan via wristcomm. “Hey, Master. I’ve got the droid up and running. His name is BT and he says there’s no other bombs on board.”

“Excuse me, did you just say the thing that tried to kill us is up and running?” Obi-Wan’s petulant voice asked. “And that you’re just taking its word it doesn’t want us dead anymore?”

Anakin rolled his eyes. Obi-Wan couldn’t see him, anyway. “Your comprehension skills are as strong as ever, Master. R2 reconfigured him, he’s on our side now.” 

“Your faith in these machines never ceases to amaze.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He chose to ignore Obi-Wan’s mutterings about how he never could control how Anakin took things. “If you’re so skeptical, you can come talk to BT yourself.”

“You know how much I relish droid conversations. But, certainly, since you didn’t see fit to just give me its databanks like I requested.”

“Look at it this way,” Anakin said cheerfully. “It’s more fun to talk than to read!”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I’ll be right over.”

*

“Alright… BT, was it?” Obi-Wan kneeled before the small machine. The rather unique body Anakin chose for it had no eyes, so he wasn’t quite sure where to direct he gaze. He settled for the top third, where a band of green lights flickered. “Who sent you here?”

“General Grievous.” Its artificially-produced words were high-pitched, mechanical. 

“I asked that already,” Anakin complained behind him. Obi-Wan ignored him.

“You tried to plant a bomb in our engine room?”

“That is correct, Kenobi.” 

“Why are you asking the obvious, Master?”

“Because the obvious isn’t always the full picture, Anakin. Now, BT. What other threats do you know against this ship?”

“When General Grievous learns I failed to kill you, he’ll blow me up.” BT warbled. 

Anakin squawked. “You said there weren’t any more bombs on board!”

“I’m not a bomb.” 

Obi-Wan raised a knowing eyebrow at Anakin, who was rubbing his face and muttering to himself. Point made. “Tell me, BT. Are there any other threats we should know about against us?”

“Possibly. It depends on how far Skywalker’s treatment has come along.” All sense of joking drained from Obi-Wan. His blood ran cold. Thing thing couldn’t possibly know. “If he hasn’t been cured yet, he could still die. But he seems quite well. Maybe he’s been completely treated.” 

“Die from what?” Obi-Wan asked quietly. 

“The poisoning I gave him.”

Dimly, Obi-Wan heard Anakin exclaim, “That was you?!” But his own head was filled with noise. Here. This was the thing that had— he wanted to draw his lightsaber and cut it to pieces again. It was this thing’s fault that Anakin had been so vulnerable; that Obi-Wan was so emotionally off-kilter he’d get angry enough to want revenge. 

No. Let it go. Be cautious. “Do you know of any antidotes?”

“No, my orders were to get you off General Grievous’ hands. Either he’d die from the poison and you’d mourn him, or you two would leave the war. Creating a cure would’ve been a waste of resources.” 

Anakin practically shoved Obi-Wan aside to get himself in front of BT. “What you do you mean, we’d leave the war?”

BT’s artificial voice was almost sing-song. “You two are known for being close. If Kenobi had to give you his semen, based on how sexual intercourse brings proximity in humans, you would become too involved to go back to the war.”

Oh. The pieces clicked together in Obi-Wan’s head. He had no idea how, but this droid had played him. Never once having met, this machine read him like a holocron and mapped out his fate. All his fears, all his reactions— he’d worked hard to overcome them. And they’d been nothing but casual analysis to a thing that didn’t even breathe. Nice to know all his effort was so handsomely rewarded.

“You thought we'd fuck so much we wouldn't fight anymore?” Anakin blurted out. “That doesn't even make any sense!” 

“You are organic,” BT said. “You don’t have to make sense.”

Indeed, they made no sense at all. But Obi-Wan didn’t need to unpack this ‘too involved’ prediction with two droids present. That was between him and Anakin. “And BT, do you know where Grievous is now?” 

“You’ve moved on to Grievous? Don’t you want to know more about why he thinks fucking gets us out of the war?”

“Yes, Anakin, I thought the question of our relations could wait until after we’ve got all the intel on who’s trying to murder us. BT?”

“Grievous did not see it fit to share with me his location.”

“Very well.” Obi-Wan rose to his feet. “I’ve asked it all that I can think of. Anakin, make sure we have a copy of its databanks and flush BT off the ship.”

“Into space?” Anakin asked, incredulous. “BT wouldn’t survive!”

“Didn’t you hear it? It’s a walking time bomb. It’s not exactly the time or place for your affection towards droids.”

Anakin’s eyes clouded. “You never think it’s the time or place, Master.” As if to protect the thing, Anakin placed a hand on one of the few non-thistled spots. “If it’s just about Grievous blowing him up, I can alter his identity beacon. Problem solved.” 

Old, ingrained reactions in Obi-Wan reared their head. There was no place for affection, only for what was right. Altering its identity beacon would be a waste of resources and energy. This was just one more of Anakin’s incomprehensible attachments. Obi-Wan looked the thing over. It wasn’t even fighting for its own fate, just awaiting further orders. Oh, what was the harm. The Force gave no warning signals against saving the thing. “Fine, Anakin. Do what you want. As long as it doesn’t kill us.” 

Anakin’s smile was slow and warm. “Careful, Master. I might get used to you letting me have my way.” 

Obi-Wan waved him off as he left. “Don’t dream of it, Anakin.” 

It felt good to joke with his friend. Better than ripping away their closeness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please have some long-overdue thank yous ♥
> 
> \- To my wifely, who’s celebrated every time I broke out the pen/paper and Scrivener, even if she’s not a Star Wars fan herself. The story would not exist without her encouragement. 
> 
> \- To Becky, who’s always game to discuss every nuance of Star Wars characters. The story would be something else entirely without her conversations!
> 
> \- To Grelse, who doesn’t understand why I ship Obi-Wan/Anakin but is very chipper about suggesting plot lines at me. 
> 
> \- To my readers, thank you. Thank you for every kudos, every comment, and for simply reading. When I started this fic, it was with the thought of “lol, what if I wrote fuck or die but with BLOW JOBS? And what if Obi-Wan’s come was addictive? LOL OKAY.” I lost that second plot element fairly early on, but I’ve been adding more and more. (What if there’s a medical droid?? What if a droid was the one who poisoned them!! >:D Oh my god what does Padmé think of all this.)
> 
> So, Seed is definitely not the story I thought it would be when I started publishing it. (At least I’ve updated the tags??) I just hope the fic continues to engage your attention. Thank you again for reading. ♥

A warm cloth helped wipe away oil and sweat from his face and hands. It’d been a long day. Anakin’s fingers ached from the fiddly work of taking BT apart, removing all identity tracers, and putting him back together. A long day, but a good one. 

He could go into the ‘fresher and get a proper clean. Luxuriate in hot and wet. Clean the dirt from all his creases. Or he could grab himself a meal and fill up his stomach. Heck, he could just go and crash in bed. Sleep wouldn’t be so bad after hours of mechanical work and nearly getting blown up.

But he missed Obi-Wan.

He found his Master in his own sleeping quarters, seated by a display window. He calmly watched the white, glowing lines of hyperspace. “Anakin, hello,” he said. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement. 

“Hey.” Anakin joined him by the seats. Crossed his arms and watched too. 

“Did you fix the droid?” Obi-Wan asked. He seemed very distant, eyes focused on the scenery before them. 

Anakin shrugged. Obi-Wan probably didn’t care about the details, long as the job got done. “Yeah, Grievous has no way now of tracking it down. He wouldn’t even recognize BT if they ran into each other on the street. He won’t be exploding anyone anytime soon.”

“Good, good.” 

They stayed there in companionable silence. It was soothing, like Anakin always heard meditating was supposed to be. He could actually feel his shoulders slowly relaxing. When Obi-Wan wasn’t on his case about this, that, or the other, they actually got along pretty okay. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said suddenly.

So much for not being at each other’s throats. “Yeah?” Anakin asked cautiously. His shoulders rose up again.

Obi-Wan turned from the window and locked ups with Anakin. “I have a favour to ask you.”

Anakin smirked. “Yeah, sure, maybe I can do something for you. Depends, though.”

“Good, never jump into a commitment blindly.” Obi-Wan smiled. Was that meant to be a teacher-to-student compliment? “What I wanted to ask you is this. I’ve promised you my honesty. I was hoping you could do me the same honour.” 

Oh, shit. Anakin bit down on his tongue. Did a mental review of all the secrets he kept from Obi-Wan. He might be able to withhold information from Obi-Wan but he’d never be able to tell him a total lie. This was a recipe for disaster. It wasn’t that he had a lot of secrets, but there was so much he could never tell his Master— 

Obi-Wan’s gaze was patient and giving. Like he knew he’d asked for a lot and acknowledged the weight of his request. Anakin let out a deep breath. He’d asked him for the same thing. This was only fair. And he could trust Obi-Wan. He might not be happy with the answers he got, but Anakin knew in his gut he’d understand the context behind them. “Okay, yeah.”

“Thank you, that means a lot to me.” Obi-Wan ducked his head. Anakin steeled for whatever words came next out of his mouth— whatever truth he’d have to give up. “You may have noticed, but I’ve been a bit… all over the map lately.”

“Huh?” 

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Or maybe not. What I mean is, I’ve been a few crystals short of a lightsaber. Not as collected as I like to be.” 

These seemed more like statements than questions. Anakin shrugged. “Okay.” 

“What I’m getting at, Anakin, is, I feel like I’ve let my emotions get the better of me.” Obi-Wan rose to his feet. Only just then did Anakin notice he’d disrobed to his dark undershirt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Obi-Wan without layers and layers of robes. Years, probably. 

“Is there a questions somewhere in there?” Anakin asked. 

Obi-Wan smiled. Had he just clipped his beard? He seemed lighter, somehow. “I suppose not.” 

Well, if he wasn’t going to ask questions, this deal was gonna be a cinch. 

Obi-Wan studied him steadily. His eyes were clearer and bluer than Anakin remembered. “You’ve asked me many personal questions, Anakin. Why?” 

There was a sudden lump lodged in Anakin’s throat. He tried to swallow. “Why?” 

“Yes. Why does it matter to you, whom I’ve slept with?” His expression was calm, like on his best days before the war. Like they’d just completed a difficult mission and Obi-Wan was pleased with Anakin’s development. If there was a trap here, Anakin couldn’t see it. The thing was, he couldn’t make sense of the question either.

“I just wanted to know,” Anakin said sullenly.

It wasn’t that they were close. Just about striking distance, if they were enemies. But it still felt too close. “Why did you want to know?” 

“I don’t know,” Anakin said, turning away. “You’d never shared anything like that before. You’re always busy being a perfect Jedi. I don’t know, I liked that you weren’t just— that you’re a bit human, too.”

“A perfect Jedi?” Obi-Wan shook his head with a sad smile. “I only wish.” He sobered up. “I’m sorry I made you think such a thing was possible, Anakin. No Jedi is perfect, least of all me.” 

This was all so confusing. “Okay, maybe not perfect, I do save your ass all the time. But you’re pretty close.” Anakin didn’t like Obi-Wan putting himself down like that. “Better than anyone else on the Council,” he declared. His Master was the best Master. He wouldn’t hear otherwise.

*

Something in Obi-Wan’s expression softened. “Oh, Anakin.” Affection flowed through Obi-Wan. His former Padawan managed to look both sullen and proud. “I’m flattered you think so well of me.” He longed to touch Anakin. Softly, carefully. Fully. To take him in his arms and show him— maybe touch could teach him what actions and words hadn’t. 

And if Obi-Wan were such a failed Jedi, if a damn machine could predict his emotional collapse with such clarity, then maybe he could fail in one more way. If it’d help Anakin, Obi-Wan could think of no better reason to betray the Code. “But I’m not perfect.” 

Anakin tilted his chin up, eyes defiant. “You’re close enough,” Anakin said. It touched him that the question of his perfection would prove one of Anakin’s stubborn points. It made him ache as well. What an impossible standard to live for. No wonder Anakin so often had difficulty reining in his anger. 

“Do you want to know how not perfect I am?”

*

Anakin hesitated. This seemed like a trick question. Anything Obi-Wan ever asked was suspect. Back in their student-teacher days, Obi-Wan would deliberately lead him to contradict himself through a series of answers just to prove a point. Still. He did want to uncover more of Obi-Wan’s humanity. Who he was a person, when he’d taken off the cloak of duty. To have evidence of Obi-Wan’s imperfection— Anakin craved that. The temptation was too strong. “Yes,” he whispered. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes lidded. “Then I have one more question for now.” 

He saw it coming a mile away. The way Obi-Wan cupped his cheek. The weight of Obi-Wan’s touch, the roughness of his callouses. Knew it with such certainty it was as if they were two pieces of a whole that’d been ripped apart and brought back together at last. Anakin knew it all, but he still trembled with anticipation. Could barely breathe, suffocated by hope. “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Please,” Anakin groaned. 

Obi-Wan’s gaze flickered between Anakin’s eyes and lips. “Very well.” 

The kiss was slow and tentative. His Master’s mouth was soft and gentle; thoughtful. Exploratory. It matched Anakin’s pace. This— this was an irrevocable change to their relationship. Emotion rose in Anakin, thick and pervasive as smoke and just as intangible. He sighed. Was suddenly reminded of his first kiss with Padmé all those months ago on the lake shores of Naboo; could almost feel the sun’s warmth and tentative joy from that perfect moment. Without thinking, he held his flesh hand to his Master’s nape. Drew him in closer. Didn’t want to let go. 

When they parted lips, they naturally tilted foreheads to touch. Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed. He breathed deep and calm. Watching his Master so close and dear, Anakin suddenly understood the feeling flooding through him. “I love you.” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes opened. They were unreadable. Was he going to scold Anakin? Anakin bit the inside of his cheek. Unconsciously gripped the hairs at the base of Obi-Wan’s head. He’d never take back the words. He loved Obi-Wan, plain and simple. His Master could deal with it. But— no. There was no recrimination in his expression or Force presence. There was only acceptance. Anakin eased. 

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. He brushed Anakin’s face with fingertips. “I really have led you astray.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The words themselves were cruel. The tone wasn’t. Anakin moved his hand down along Obi-Wan’s spine, settling at the small of his back. Let himself enjoy the hug and closeness of his Master. His shirt was silkier than he’d expected. Anakin liked how with every breath, he could take in Obi-Wan’s scent. It was as familiar to him as Padmé’s. Unnamable yet intimate. 

Obi-Wan’s smile was melancholy and wry and everything Anakin had ever come to rely upon from him. “My feelings are the same as yours, my graduated apprentice. I think I taught you everything I know a little too much.” 

Obi-Wan loved him back. The words didn’t sound real. He repeated them silently to himself, testing them out. Unconsciously hugged his Master closer. Testing. Obi-Wan moved into him willingly, his own arms wrapping around his back. Oh, stars, it was true. Obi-Wan loved him back. Anakin laughed, eyes crinkling with happiness. Buried his face into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Barely knew what to do with himself. “If I learned what you taught me, Master, then it’s your own fault for too good a job.” 

“I suppose so,” Obi-Wan said soberly. Having finally touched, he couldn’t let go. He’d dreamed of just this: arms full of Anakin, holding him as a lover. For all his consternation since discovering and delving through the layers of his lust, affection, and love for his former Padawan, Obi-Wan felt nothing but… peace. Like a promise fulfilled. He rubbed a hand up and down Anakin’s back. He didn’t ever want to stop. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t have some questions to resolve, first.” 

Anakin drew his head back, frowning. “Like what?” 

“A certain senator from Naboo?” 

This was almost as bewildering as Obi-Wan declaring his love for him. A very close almost. “You mean Padmé?”

“Well, I don’t mean Senator Jar Jar Binks.” Obi-Wan paused. “Unless you’re in love with him too.” 

Wait. Why was Obi-Wan talking about love and senators? There was no way he knew. No way. Anakin tried for stoic, but his voice betrayed him, pitching high. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Obi-Wan glanced skywards. It was the same impatience as when Anakin had dropped his lightsaber again. “It’s okay, Anakin. You don’t need to pretend. I know you’re in love with Senator Amidala.” 

Anakin stepped back, sliding out of his Master’s grasp. “You know?” He was almost… bored. His world as he knew it was turning upside down and Obi-Wan was bored. “Since when?” 

“I don’t know, Anakin. When was the first time you slipped out of bed and watched her speak on the Holonet?”

That was… within the first week of coming into Obi-Wan’s care. As soon as Anakin had figured out how to work datapads, he stayed up till after his Master went to bed and looked up Naboo. Found the news schedule and watched Padmé in her Queen’s garb address the entire Senate about her planet’s regained independence. About the importance of maintaining peace. “That’s as long as you’ve known me,” Anakin whispered. 

“Quite, yes.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms, looking to the side. “I’m not sure if you expect me to apologize. It was never much of a secret.” 

“You’ve known all this time.” Right was left, left was right, and Anakin had only just now realized. All the sneaking off, first to watch Padmé in private and then to be with her… all in vain. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He’d kept this painful secret for nothing?

“Because I trusted you.” How could Obi-Wan be so damned calm? “I wanted to give you the space to make your own choices. To find your own path.” Make your own mistakes, he did not add. 

Without thinking, Anakin started pacing circles round the tiny room. What did that even mean, Obi-Wan trusted him? Since when? Obi-Wan had always controlled his life and fate down to the last millimetre. “If you trust me so much, why are you so hard on me?” Anakin’s voice rose. “All you ever say is how I’ve failed—“ 

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan stopped him in his tracks, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Calm yourself.” Oddly enough, this did nothing to sooth him. Anakin nearly thrashed out of his hold. “I should hope you’ve heard me a few times. If you’d paid attention—“ There was that condescension again! “—you’d have heard me say how far you’ve come.” Those were just words. “If I’m hard on you, it’s precisely because I do trust you.” 

Now that was just going too far. Anakin glowered at him. “That makes no sense.” 

Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulders tighter. “I trust you to listen. To grow. To become even better as a Jedi. If I didn’t believe in you, Anakin, I wouldn’t even bother.” 

Anakin felt suddenly exhausted. Like he’d been carrying a weight and it was off his shoulders— but he knew it could come crashing back at any moment. Still. Obi-Wan had said that in the battle of his life, he’d pick Anakin to be by his side. Maybe he did trust him. So weird. It was almost scarier than not having been trusted at all. “I never knew.”

“I’ve tried telling you.” Obi-Wan was so kind Anakin almost cried. “I don’t know how else to reach you. You’re my best friend, Anakin. No one means more to me.” 

Aw, shit, he did cry. Tears sprung to his eyes. More came as Obi-Wan wiped them away. “Thank you, Master. I had no idea.” 

“It’s nothing to thank me over.” His grip slackened; hand slid down his chest. “It’s just the truth.” 

“Thank you for telling me.” Anakin clasped Obi-Wan’s hand over his chest.

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “Well.” They were close again. All this talking and for no reason. They could be kissing instead. But when Anakin leaned in, his Master shook his head. “Anakin, we still haven’t discussed Senator Amidala.” 

“What about her?” 

“You— are with her, are you not?”

Anakin flushed. “Yes, Master.” 

Obi-Wan didn’t reply immediately, looking at him expectantly. Then, gently, “How would she feel if you took on another lover?” 

How would— his head swam. Oh. No. No, no, no, no— 

His sweet, adoring angel. He saw Padmé in his mind’s eye, smiling and holding her hand out to him. “I love you, Ani.” But their careers did not condone being together. She, a senator, and him, a Jedi. Before he was torn away from her by the war, they swore their devotion and commitment. One and only, they vowed. 

Anakin could still taste Obi-Wan’s kiss on his lips. Was holding him, ready to kiss him again and more. 

He went numb with realization. He’d fucked up. Badly. 

Anakin bolted. Vaguely heard Obi-Wan shout his name. But he wouldn’t stop, not even if all the Sith stood before him. He’d get the best transmission quality from the engine room. What time was it on Coruscant? Didn’t matter. He’d insist that Padmé answer, no matter if it was day or night or the middle of a Senate session. 

Next thing knew, Anakin was falling, buckled by a Force-blow to the back of his knees. “Anakin, stop.” His Master pinned him to the ground, twisting his arm against his back. How could he always be saving Obi-Wan’s sorry ass all the time but still get bested by him? Anakin bucked for leverage. 

“Let me go! I have to talk to her!”

“And what is your plan?”

Unable to escape Obi-Wan’s hold, Anakin wriggled. “I don’t need a plan! I need Padmé!”

“To say what, exactly, over a monitored comm system? That you’re cheating on your forbidden lover with your Jedi Master? Think, Anakin!”

Oh stars, cheating. “I never—” Anakin couldn’t speak from not breathing. He’d never meant to hurt her. Padmé, his angel, his heart, she had to forgive him. She had to understand.

He was too panicked to notice, but Obi-Wan released his grip. Pressed firmly on pressure points to force his airways into working again. “You can talk to her,” Obi-Wan said softly. “And you should. You just have to wait.” The floor was cold and harsh against Anakin’s cheek. “You’ve worked too hard to get where you are to lose it in a moment of panic. And isn’t this a conversation best had face to face?”

Anakin moaned into the floor. He couldn’t stand being away from Padmé, not when he needed her so much. 

They were quiet a long time, Anakin trying to put peace to the fear spiralling in his mind. He did not see how long Obi-Wan hesitated over him, hand hovering over his head. But once Obi-Wan made his choice, Anakin did ease into the gentle touch of fingers in his hair, even as guilt ate away at him. “What do I do, Master?” 

“Well.” Obi-Wan still stroked his head. “Getting off the floor would be a start.” 

Only his Master could’ve made him smile in middle of a crisis. 

Anakin wasn’t going to lose either of them. No way.


	8. Chapter 8

Something was wrong. The feeling was an ice cube, creepy and chilling, down Padmé's back. 

She'd lived with this feeling since Geneosis, when the war started. Since that moment she accepted that she loved Anakin and would be with him, the consequences be damned. Her Ani liked to tease her, eyes glinting. Whenever she brought up this unease, he said that she had the Force sensitivity of a shaak. “Don’t think about it,” he said.

Force sensitivity of a shaak or not (and really, compared to Anakin, so did everybody), Padmé did know what she felt and she did think of it. The war continually unnerved her. Watching her husband go off into the battle field, not knowing if he was coming back— his life was constantly in danger. But it was the path he’d chosen and she’d sooner expect him to give it up than she’d renounce politics. Padmé loved her Ani as he was. That included trying to save their Republic with his lightsaber. 

“Senator Amidala?” 

She snapped back to the conversation. She bowed her head deeply to the Roonan. “Excuse me, Senator Aang. My attention wandered for just a moment. Please, tell me more about your ideas on refinancing loans for the Outer Rim, they are absolutely… riveting.” Aang was happy to comply. 

Padmé had to believe in Ani, that was all. That he’d be okay and home soon. 

The ice cube continued its descent down her back.

*

After his failed attempt to contact Padmé, Anakin didn’t move from off the floor where Obi-Wan had tackled him. Obi-Wan gave him a few minutes before asking quietly, “Are you ready?”

Anakin nodded, cheek rubbing against the cold floor. 

Obi-Wan didn’t offer so much as a hand to help him up. It wasn’t their way. Over the years, as Anakin’s teacher, Obi-Wan refused to give aid where his student was perfectly capable of completing the task alone. It’d be a crutch where Obi-Wan wanted him to learn independence. But watching Anakin struggle up, going up so painfully as to belie his Jedi training— oh, he wanted to slip in a touch. To lend his shoulder in physical and moral support. These next few days of waiting wouldn’t be a challenge to Anakin alone.

His face was off-white, the colour of the floor he’d just been on. “Go to the ‘fresher,” Obi-Wan said. Though it seemed impossible, Anakin became even more crestfallen. “What?”

Anakin looked over his shoulder, shy; embarrassed. “I don’t want to leave you.”

A complicated wave of feelings washed over Obi-Wan. He exhaled slowly, trying to parse them all. An automatic response, one that had driven Obi-Wan for most of his adult life, was to encourage Anakin towards independence. Exasperation that Anakin couldn’t figure out this much. And underlying it all, as definite and solid as granite, was a wish resonating with Anakin’s: to stay with him. 

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair. This was going to get trickier the longer it went on. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll still be here when you’re done.” He cracked a smile he hoped was reassuring. “There’s not a heck of a lot of places I can go.”

“You’re not—” Anakin frowned, hesitating. “You’re not going to change your mind?”

“About what?” 

“About—” He cast his gaze downwards. “Being in love with me.” 

It’d be amusing except that Anakin really and truly looked troubled. His eyes were a deep glass blue ready to shatter.

Before, Obi-Wan might’ve touched his shoulder reassuringly. Before, as a teacher and mentor. Before he had to navigate how close they could get without violating any further Anakin’s relationship with his love. Obi-Wan tried instead for his warmest smile. “It’s been a long time coming, Anakin. No, I don’t think my feelings will change in the time it takes you to shower.”

Anakin ducked his head, shoulders slumping. “I’ll hold you to that, Master.”

*

Back in the privacy of her office, Padmé called up her comm-centre. “Skywalker,” she commanded.

Nothing new. Just that same old message from last time. It was infuriatingly cryptic: “All is well. Nothing to report.” And a wink. As if that’d be enough to tide over her longing and curiosity. But beyond the light-hearted words and wink, Anakin seemed… strained. His devil-may-are expression was a little too rigid around the corners, just like he got whenever he was trying to be convincing. 

Padmé sighed. She’d once read about lovers who sent letters in glass bottles across bodies of water. It sounded so tempting. They must’ve been able to pour their hearts out in ink. So much more satisfying than this hiding behind the disguises of their careers. But to be fair, a glass bottle sounded about as private as their monitored lines of communication. 

She tapped her fingers against her Endor-oak table. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have favours to call in. All she wanted was to know if her husband was okay. That couldn’t be a crime on any world. She had friends amongst the Jedi. They’d share with her more than her husband could right now.

*

Obi-Wan scanned the accumulated messages from the Jedi Council. There were no direct summons or missions, just basic status updates. Ryloth regained. More starships needed on Alderaan. Ten thousand more clone troops were battle-ready. On and on the war minutia ran.

He stroked his beard to help ground his attention. He couldn’t focus on any particular message, skipping from one to the next. Strange. It’d only been a few days since Anakin got the fever and they’d been forced out of commission. The war raged on. Obi-Wan could sense it at the edge of his consciousness, a galaxy gripped in strife and fear. But he couldn’t quite… connect to this information. It all seemed distant. Like a history review from his youngling days of an era over generations ago. Too far away to carry emotional importance. 

Distant or not, he still had a duty to carry out. From the status readings, no one from the Council was available for an update. He recorded a message instead. “Kenobi here,” he stated, holding his hands behind him. “Skywalker and I are en route to Lith for refuelling. I’ll send an updated reading from our medical droid, but basically, he’s still in need of—”

Support. A clear path. A way to cope with all the emotions threatening to overtake him at the least disturbance. What would Anakin do the day he was too distraught to think straight and he was all alone? That day would come. Today’s latest outburst was evidence of that. His panic over confused attachments was both understandable and alarming. 

“He needs more of my semen,” Obi-Wan concluded out loud. “I request clearance to return directly to Coruscant so he can be further tested.” This was mostly true. Anakin should get attention from the Jedi healers and a full medical analysis. Just to see if there was anything else wrong or if the techs on Coruscant could figure out another cure. 

But more than anything else, he had to guarantee Anakin a face-to-face meeting with Padmé. His good friend needed to settle matters sooner rather than later. (And if Obi-Wan let himself be fully honest, he might not need an answer about how Padmé would take the news of any kind of intimacy between him and Anakin, but he very, very much wanted it.) 

Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s energy before he saw or heard him. He turned. Anakin was still quite pale, his lips pressed into a somber line. He looked vulnerable in his dark, thin tunic. Like he’d been stripped of all his Jedi training and nothing was left but his emotional core. 

“How are you?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I’ve been better,” Anakin said flatly. Numbly, even. 

Obi-Wan nodded. “You should get some sleep. We have half a standard day before we reach Lith. We’ll be busy—” 

“My antidote,” Anakin interrupted. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’m not cured yet.” 

Surprise made Obi-Wan’s eyebrows lift. “I thought you’d want a break for now.”

“The last time I took a break, I relapsed. I don’t wanna be sick again.” Anakin stared at Obi-Wan with naked need. 

More complicated feelings welled up in him. Desire. Guilt. Caution. “Anakin, I won’t touch you in any untoward way until—”

“Of course not,” Anakin cut him off angrily. It was the first sign of emotion he’d shown since coming into the room. “I don’t want to. I’m waiting for Padmé.” He sucked in a breath. “But unless Dr. Boll’s found me a cure, I need this. You. Please.” 

No matter what Anakin said, his true purpose seemed clear enough: this was a way for intimacy and comfort without cause for guilt. The thing was, he wasn’t wrong. “All right.” 

“Thank you,” Anakin said simply. 

Obi-Wan looked around them. The engine room was packed with flickering lights, gauges, and buttons. “Let’s go back to my quarters.” It’d be too awkward here. He’d long since turned off the comm system, but it felt wrong to engage in touching in the same room where he’d just spoken with the Jedi Council. Even if Anakin’s need for his come was already a matter of Jedi record, it remained a private matter. 

“As you wish.” 

The ship hallways narrow, Anakin trailed after Obi-Wan. He’d faced every manner of carnivorous creature with implacable calm, and yet Obi-Wan found a sudden sweat coming on. It was sticky and awkward in his armpits, his palms. How did Anakin always manage to push him so far beyond his comfort zone? 

He’d never thought so before, but his quarters now looked so… small. Intimate. 

Facing the wall, he began to unlace his tunic. It was practically routine by now.

Anakin caught his wrist. “Master.” 

Obi-Wan’s heart leapt into his throat. “Do you plan to blow me through my pants, Anakin?”

“No.” His hands slid upwards, resting upon Obi-Wan’s hips. He moved into the touch involuntarily, already swelling. “I mean. I can’t. Not— we don’t need to make this mechanical.” Anakin bit his lip and stared downward. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss you or anything. I won’t be inappropriate. I just—” His voice cracked. “I just can’t bear for you to treat me like I’m not even here. If we have to do this, I— Padmé would understand.” 

Obi-Wan thought to argue. Just because they kept to the bare-bones of him orgasming, it didn’t mean he didn’t care for Anakin. The physical act didn’t, shouldn’t, set off whatever fears Anakin possessed. 

But was that the teacher in him? When Anakin was a Padawan, it’d have been easy to shoot down this blatant cry for attachment. But now Anakin stood before him a fully grown man; a tested and experienced Jedi Knight. One whom Obi-Wan had openly confessed to loving and was… contemplating being with, whatever that meant for them. He didn’t want the teacher’s role anymore. 

If he and Anakin were going to be together, some changes were called for. What those changes were, exactly, stars forgive Obi-Wan, he had no idea. But surely it’d involve respecting and even meeting Anakin’s emotional requests. Within reason, of course. 

Obi-Wan covered Anakin’s hands with his own; gave a squeeze. Touching him was— how in blazes had he gone on so long without realizing how fucking much Anakin turned him on? “You do it, then.” 

Gratefulness transformed Anakin’s expression. He seemed softer. Less likely to shatter. “Okay.” 

Anakin’s fingers were certain and quick. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but remember the times he’d seen those same hands disarm bombs with the same speed and confidence. Felt a surge of pride. His Anakin was a mess sometimes, but a beautiful, complicated, able mess. 

Not his Anakin, exactly. Not now. Maybe not ever. 

Obi-Wan walked the couple of steps backwards toward his bed. Anakin kept the distance between them minimal, never letting go. Tugged Obi-Wan’s pants down over his ass. With every heartbeat, Obi-Wan longed to kiss him. He was so near, eyelashes long and thick over lidded eyes. He would’ve kept the promise not to, no matter what, but it was still a relief when Anakin went out of reach by sinking to his knees. He looked up as if to ask permission before starting. Obi-Wan’s cock twitched. 

As gently as possible, Obi-Wan threaded his fingers through Anakin’s hair. Ran his fingertips over his temples down to his nape. Anakin leaned towards him, eyes closing. Obi-Wan let himself enjoy the sense of calm finally coming from him. Indulged in wallowing in their connection through their Force. He’d never known such a complex knot of feelings before. He wanted to fuck Anakin’s brains out. Hold him close. Berate him for putting them in this situation. 

He guided Anakin’s mouth to his cock. Tilted his head groaned as warmth coated his aching, rock-hard cock. There was no hope for him. He wanted Anakin, and he wanted him now. Shuddered at how Anakin first covered the head of his dick with his lips then lavished loving attention with his tongue. “Fuck,” Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back. His hands clenched involuntarily round Anakin’s curls. Pulled him closer, demanding more, faster. 

Anakin became more frenzied, greedily taking in more of Obi-Wan’s dick until he couldn’t fit in anymore. Obi-Wan fed off the pulse of Anakin’s desire, so warm and loud to him through the Force. Twitching his hips off the bed, he rutted into Anakin’s welcoming, wet mouth. “Fuck, oh, fuck, Anakin—” And through it all, Anakin was there for him, groaning and goading him. Like he liked getting mouth-fucked by Obi-Wan. As if he couldn’t get enough. And maybe he really, really couldn’t. With a cry, Obi-Wan came messily, grinding his crotch into Anakin’s face. He had nothing left to hide, after all. 

For his part, Anakin seemed to delight in swallowing, mouthing Obi-Wan’s dick down to the last drop. Lingered over his cock longer than strictly necessary, still spreading his lips up and down his softening, sensitive member. The sound was sloppily wet and and filthy and far too arousing. Obi-Wan rumbled out a moan that was half pleasure, half pain. It was almost abuse, but he couldn’t bring himself to complain. Not when this might be the last— Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He had no right to be upset about that. It wasn’t his place to expect anything physical. Not until Padmé had her say. 

Anakin’s hands still gripped his thighs tight. “Anakin?” He didn’t move, as if turned into carbonite on his very knees. 

Maybe this’d been a mistake.

Obi-Wan traced his face and chin with his fingertips. It was a more intimate touch than he’d prefer, but this was about helping, not pleasure-seeking. Anakin’s worry and fear were palpable, a voltage jolt to his skin. When Anakin pressed closer into Obi-Wan’s touch, he was trembling. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how… strongly Anakin could react. But he wasn’t surprised, either. They’d been together ten years, after all. Anakin never had figured out how to control himself. 

They stayed that way a while, Obi-Wan caressing Anakin over his face, his neck, his shoulders. His shaking slowed, then eventually halted. He relaxed into a kneeling position, his head falling quite naturally into Obi-Wan’s lap. Once Anakin was calm enough to be all but asleep, Obi-Wan spoke again. “Thank you, Anakin.” 

When Anakin looked up, his eyes were clear. A smile crept up. “I’m pretty good, huh.” His tone was a curious mixture of smugness and gratitude. What was the gratefulness for? Whatever it was, Obi-Wan fed off the positive energy. As long as they could laugh, Anakin couldn’t sink too deep into the mire of his complexes. 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself there.” 

Anakin sprang up to his feet. “Why, have you had better?” 

Obi-Wan knew with bone-deep certainty that if he were to say yes, it’d bring Anakin crashing back down into resentment. But the truth was always better and, in this case, it was on their side. “That’s hardly the point, Anakin.” 

“Hah.” Anakin gloated, eyes bright. “You haven’t. I’m the best you’ve had.”

“Yes, yes, you’re amazing.” Obi-Wan waved a hand. He found himself yawning. No wonder. It was probably well past a standard day and a half since he’d last slept. “Your amazingness aside—”

“Let me stay,” Anakin blurted out. This again. Obi-Wan sighed. Anakin interrupted him before he could launch into any didactic reasons not to. “I can’t be alone right now. I couldn’t stand it. I just— I just want to sleep in the same bed as you.” He scratched at his neck. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?” How could this boy be so vain, so arrogant, and yet resort to such humbling pleas? “Padmé would understand.” 

“It seems Padmé would understand a lot.”

Anakin flinched. “Well, she would. She wants me to be happy.” 

For a depressingly pleasing moment, Obi-Wan let himself imagine them lying together. It was a small cot. He could hold Anakin from behind and fall asleep to the sound of Anakin’s soft sleep-talking. Fall into dreams surrounded by Anakin’s heady scent. Doubtless, he’d wake up hard. He’d want to— 

He could resist any temptation. But that wasn’t the point.

“Be the as it may, it’d be too difficult for me,” Obi-Wan said gently. Anakin launched into a frown. “I know you don’t quite believe it yet, Anakin, but my feelings for you are —” taking over his life— “quite strong. I couldn’t pretend lying with you is platonic.” 

Anakin chewed on his lip. “You want me too much to be with me?”

“To summarize, yes.” 

A long, tense moment passed while Anakin wrestled with the thought. Obi-Wan believed him to make the right choice. “You better not be lying.” 

“I wouldn’t, Anakin. You know that.” 

He looked ready to contest that, but he just nodded instead. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

*

As a senator, Padmé had no end of reasons to consult with the Jedi. Securing an audience with Master Windu was as simple as visiting the Jedi Temple and asking after him. She’d have preferred to meet with Obi-Wan, not just an ally in the war but also a good friend, but he was off-planet. Given how often they were assigned together, he was probably with Anakin right now. She certainly hoped so. She knew Obi-Wan would do his all to keep Anakin well.

Master Windu and Padmé walked through the high-arching, imposing halls of the Temple. The midday sun poured in and filled the ancient marble with warmth and energy. Dozens of other beings bustled around them, busy with training and war prep and all the errands required to run an organization like the Jedis' on a day-to-day basis. 

“So we can count on the Jedis' support for evacuating the refugees from Utapau?” 

“If you can get the Senate to clear that mandate, of course,” Master Windu said. 

“Skywalker’s in the Outer Rim now, isn’t he?” Padmé asked casually though her heart thud in anticipation of an answer at long last. All her senses whispered that her husband wasn’t well. She just needed to quell the creeping feeling. “I know he has experience with moving large numbers of groups off-planet, he might be just the Jedi we need for this mission. How’s he doing, by the way?”

She didn’t miss annoyance flickering on Master Windu's face. He was going to evade the truth, she suddenly knew. Padmé hadn’t spent a decade in politics without learning to suss out imminent lies. “He’s in the Outer Rim, that’s right,” he said neutrally. A direct statement. That much would be true. Anakin was at least alive. She pressed a hand to her chest. It was but a small comfort, as she was certain she’d know the moment he died. That’s not what she came here for. “But he’s been taken off duty for the foreseeable future.” 

Padmé stopped in her tracks. Was deafened by the pounding in her ears. She’d been hoping for news, yes, but not— not like this. She’d hoped to be wrong. She’d expected Master Windu to placate her with more vague statements. “Is he injured?” she asked. Amazing that she could still speak, her heart having plummeted to her guts. Not a lot could keep her Ani off his feet. Even after getting his arm lopped off, he’d still bounced right back after the surgery, into war and marriage. Didn’t hardly take a breath. What could have made him go on leave?

Master Windu stared above her head for a minute, weighing his words. “Not injured, no. Sick.” He looked back down at her. “I know you and Skywalker are friends, which is the only reason I’m sharing this information with you, Senator. I wouldn’t take this to heart. We have no reason to think he won’t get better.” 

There was so much Padmé wanted to ask. Sick with what? How could he be so sure he'd get better? How long was it going to take? And when would he finally come home, so that she could reassure himself of his health by holding him tight? 

But Padmé knew a dismissal when she heard one. To push further would be a disrespect and compromise to the close relationship she shared with the Jedi. She bowed. "Thank you for sharing with me such private information, Master Windu. I am glad to hear he's recovering. If you can, please pass him my best wishes.”

“Of course,” he said dryly. 

Forget passing on best wishes. She needed to find a way to help Anakin, and now.


	9. Chapter 9

Anakin roamed the ship’s few, cramped rooms. Sleep, Obi-Wan told him. Hah. As if.

Obi-Wan. Not an hour ago, he’d clenched his thighs around Anakin’s head, fingers digging into his scalp. Anakin could practically taste his moans; felt his Master’s shudders across the soft, tender flesh of his stomach. He shivered in memory. Obi-Wan's feelings were the same, he’d said. Those were just words. They meant nothing compared to the mess Anakin could reduce him to with his mouth; to the hard, physical evidence of his desire. But not even that was enough proof. He needed _more_.

Except that getting the proof might hurt Padmé. The one person in this stupid galaxy who loved him unconditionally.

He could see her in his mind’s eye. So sweet, so gentle. “Why, Ani?” she asked. “How could you?”

Anakin clutched at his chest, gut twisting in disgust at his own self. He _never_ wanted to hurt her. Ever. “It just happened,” he whispered. He couldn’t have kept from loving his Master anymore than he could rip his head off. Obi-Wan had been his guide, inspiration, and friend since entering the Jedis' world. He was entwined with his Master down to the core. Craving his approval and touch came as naturally as breathing. As automatically as loving Padmé. 

Still he saw Padmé bitterly disappointed. Heartbroken. Because of _him_.

He groaned, cradling his face in his hands. If only he could fall apart, to make amends.

Lacking that ability, Anakin took apart machinery instead.

Ams found him in the middle of dismantling a caf machine, surrounded by the bolts and nuts of the casing. “General Skywalker,” it beeped.

“Ams,” he said, eyeing the droid. An All-Medical Systems droid would be way more interesting to tear apart than a lousy caf machine.

“It’s been a standard day since you’ve had a blood test,” Ams said. “You’re past due.”

Anakin sighed. He was going to be in a lava planet’s worth of trouble with his wife; his Master and maybe lover refused to comfort him; and now the vampire machine wanted another bite. What a great start this new day was getting to. He thrust his wrist out. “Here.”

The sting was sharp but quick. With a few lights and beeps, Ams almost purred. “I have good news, sir.”

“You’re gonna stop pricking me?” Anakin muttered.

“For the meanwhile, yes. You’re cured. I don’t need to take any more blood tests.”

Anakin almost dropped the wrench. “I’m _cured_?”

“Correct. You can stop ingesting Master Kenobi’s semen. I know it was making you both uncomfortable, which isn’t that surprising. I’m programmed to understand that there’s a certain amount of intimacy required for oral sex.”

He tuned Ams out after the word “cured.” What a _stupid_ poison. First it fucked up everything between him and Obi-Wan and now that he actually _needed_ the stupid excuse… no more blow jobs. No more reason to touch. Obi-Wan wouldn’t go near him now. The only thing that’d make him go back on his unreasonable moral compass was if the fate of the galaxy hungin the balance. Which, with Anakin’s luck, it wouldn’t. They’d be in a ship the size of a broom closet for days and completely, utterly unable to touch.

No Padmé, no relief: just him and his fears that he’d turned away everyone he loved.

He wasn’t going to survive this week. He’d never make it.

Even as he formed the words, they felt wrong. Like his tongue was sandpaper. “Ams?”

“Yes, General Skywalker?”

“Don’t worry about telling Obi-Wan,” the sentence pushed out of his mouth without him thinking. This was not so much a decision as desperate gut reaction. “I’ll take care of it.” Had he just said that? Fuck. Anakin cringed. Surely alarms would ring out to suss out his betrayal and cowardice. They’d promised each other the truth, but Anakin wasn’t even sure if he _could_ tell Obi-Wan he was cured; give up his one right to intimacy.

Oblivious to any inner turmoil, Ams merely bleeped in agreement.

It’s just to make it through until they reached Coruscant, Anakin told himself.

He was still sick to his stomach.

*

When Obi-Wan woke up, it was, at long last, to a sense of calm. He felt right, somehow. He sat up and stretched his arms. There was a lightness in his movements that’d been sorely lacking since… since before he could remember, really. Definitely since before this mission. Maybe for years going back.

He was eager to see Anakin.

He dressed himself in his tunics and robes. Clipped on his utility belt and, in his routine, ran a hand over his lightsaber. He was ready for anything. Including, as it turned out, a dour energy emanating from the engine room. Obi-Wan recognized the sleep-cranky and anxious nature of it. Oh, Anakin. He hadn’t slept when there was the chance. Was this what he meant about not being able to “stand it” if they didn’t lie together? At least he knew himself well enough to know what would help, even if Obi-Wan couldn’t give it to him.

Obi-Wan found machinery all around, and Anakin kneeling in the epicentre. He’s known Anakin long enough to recognize the innards of a food heater at his feet. There was more he couldn’t and didn’t care to identify. “What, was the entire ship too much to take apart?” Obi-Wan asked lightly. If this was Anakin’s way of meditating and grounding himself, so be it. 

Anakin gave him a side-glance before looking away. Guilty. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. He’d done something. Talked with Padmé, perhaps? No— he’d either be lighter than a cloud, relieved to have felt her presence through a transmission, or wallowing in disappointment that the conversation hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped. Something else, then.

“Don’t tempt me,” Anakin muttered. He kept his eyes trained on unscrewing the last set of bolts from a ventilation side-panel.

Ah, so he was going to be especially cranky. But nothing worse than Obi-Wan had experienced over the years with him. He kept on speaking, used to optimistically pushing through Anakin’s moods. “We have two essential errands to run, refuelling and getting supplies.”

Anakin’s face snapped upwards. “I’ll get the supplies.”

“That’s enthusiastic of you,” Obi-Wan said. If he was going to throw himself this hard at a task, then he had an ulterior motive beyond not wanting to stick around the ship as it refueled. Obi-Wan slid his hands into his robes, thinking. So what if Anakin did? He couldn’t do too much harm in a few hours.

He was already leaping to his feet. “Don’t worry, Master, I’ll buy your favourite flavour of instant rations.” R2 followed him towards the exit, beeping suggestions for other supplies.

“You’re just going to… leave all this here?” Obi-Wan called out, eyeing all the bits and pieces strewn about.

“I’ll clean it up when I get back,” Anakin shouted, already almost out of hearing range.

Obi-Wan sighed. He hoped he wouldn’t regret not prodding Anakin more for his true intentions.

 

*

It wasn’t lying, Anakin assured himself, breaking into a run. He just hadn’t disclosed everything. Like the fact that he was cured. Or that he was getting more than just supplies. Obi-Wan himself, supreme ruler of obeying ulterior motives, would do the same if he believed the cause was good enough. There was no need for guilt. 

Even so, Anakin fought to squash the awkward, squirming guilt in his chest. Just when they’d started to be honest—

He ran faster. It was just too much. Obi-Wan was asking too much of him, expecting him withstand all his worry and fear over Padmé without any support. Anakin had no choice. He _had_ to find other ways to keep his sanity for the next few days, if Obi-Wan wasn’t going to help him.

Getting the supplies was a joke, a quick transaction of words and credits. “Did you need anything else?” asked the Lithinian, a short reptilian being with a hard-shelled back. He peered up through his small, horn-rimmed glasses.

“Yeah,” Anakin said, impatience growing the closer he got to speaking with Padmé. “You got any long-range communicators?”

The Lithinian shrugged. “For a class-seven starship cruiser. You buying?”

He just wanted a _connection_ , not an entire engine room’s worth of equipment. “Forget it,” Anakin spat out. He was half-tempted to storm out without paying, but he still shoved the handful of credits into those scratchy hands. Fuck, he’d been counting on this. What kind of a ship warehouse didn’t carry a smaller range of communicators? He’d wasted his time here. Obi-Wan would be expecting him back soon. Anakin could keep information from his Master, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d notice if he were gone too long. He’d have questions. Where were you? Why? And then he’d have to answer with brutal honesty.

Anakin didn’t want to see Obi-Wan’s disappointment again. For being weak. For needing Padmé. And him. Padmé's distress was quite enough to worry over. He didn’t need to add his Master to the mix. Except that he would, because he’d already messed up. Fuck. Anakin clenched his fists. No matter how hard he tried, he still pissed off the people he loved. Why couldn’t they just _understand_? Why were they so goddamn hard on him all the time—

“You Skywalker?”

Anakin spun around, hand flying to his lightsaber hilt. It was impossible to tell who the hooded figure was, or even what race they were. “What’s it to you?”

They tossed him an object. Without thinking, Anakin reached out and caught the thing. It was a brown package, light enough to twirl on one finger and small enough to fit snuggly into his robes.

“Nothing to me, really,” the figure said. They had on a voice modulator that’d make it impossible to identify them by speech alone. Such devices were costly, bordering on illegal, and used only by bounty hunters. “But you might like what’s in there.”

By appearance alone, the package could contain anything, from small droid pieces to a bomb. But it pulsed with warm, gentle energy. Anakin was half-compelled to embrace it. He could almost _smell_ Padmé’s scent. Without reason, he knew, just as certain as gravitational pull: this was from her.

When Anakin looked up again, the figure had vanished into the crowd.

 

*

“Ready?” Obi-Wan called as Anakin came in.

His former Padawan wouldn’t meet his gaze. He seemed uncomfortable in his own skin, shifting his shoulders and readjusting his perfectly in place robes. “Yup.”

Still in a secretive space, then. “Let’s go.”

Obi-Wan watched as Anakin led the ship into hyperspace. It wasn’t that he mistrusted Anakin, or that he didn’t wish him to have his privacy and space. When he was ready, he’d inevitably blurt out whatever was on his mind. It was Anakin’s way, to bottle up and burst. Still, Obi-Wan wanted to see how far he could probe. Maybe relieve the pressure before it built up. “Are you ready for another dose?”

Anakin’s glance back was quick and furtive. “No. I’m good. Thanks.”

Suspicious. After demanding physical intimacy, of any kind and any cost, to now… Not that much could have changed overnight or during Anakin’s foray for supplies. “Very well,” Obi-Wan said evenly. He’d have to trust him. He could’ve pulled out the promise for the truth, but right now, with Anakin still playing with his collar like it was laced with Kashyyk peppers, it’d have felt more a weapon than call for closeness.

Quite without thinking, Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin’s back. It was a familiar gesture from years of guidance and under-spoken support. He rubbed once, twice, as if to ease away Anakin’s tension.

*

 

Anakin’s breath hitched at Obi-Wan’s touch, almost jumping out of the pilot’s chair. Did he know? Or was it a covert move to sneak his hand into Anakin’s robes and pull out his mystery package from Padmé? But Obi-Wan’s touch ended as quickly as it’d started, leaving a lingering sense of warmth and encouragement.

He flushed. He always assumed the worst of his Master. In all this complication over the blow jobs, Obi-Wan had actually been quite… kind? Weird and uptight, yeah, but then again, getting sucked off by the apprentice you’d raised warranted some embarrassment.

Anakin gripped the sharp console edge, metal metal biting into flesh. Obi-Wan had never pushed him further than he was comfortable, even when he was about to pass out again from the poison. He’d respected Anakin’s wish to keep BT onboard, even if it went against standard security protocol. And he’d said—

Honestly, Anakin still didn’t believe him. After all these years? Even with the way they’d fought just before he was knighted? Knowing he was with Padmé, and all the other ways he’d let Obi-Wan down in following his own whim? He was such a _mess_. Padmé loving him, that he could understand. Her spirit was made of compassion and kindness. But _Obi-Wan_? What was in it for him?

Still facing the panel, Anakin blurted out, “What do you want?” _Did_ Obi-Wan want anything? Before D’Aqui, Anakin would’ve said of course not. That wasn’t the Jedi way. His Master was too focused on the common good. He wasn’t like mere normal people; he wouldn’t have known want if it came and bit him on the ass.

“I--what?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin spun quickly in his chair, eyes flashing. He wasn’t mad. Not really. But he needed answers. “What do you want, Obi-Wan?” He stalked towards his Master. 

Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face, massaging his temples. “I heard the question, I just don’t know what you’re getting at.”

Though he lumbered over Obi-Wan, he remained infuriatingly poised. “Last night you said you love me, Master.” Anakin paused. “At least, that’s what you implied, when you said you felt the same way.”

There. That got a reaction. A hint of red tinged Obi-Wan's cheeks. Anakin liked how it contrasted against his lighter whisker hairs. “I do love you, Anakin.Yes.” 

“But what does it _mean_? What do you want from me?”

“With you?” Obi-Wan asked, startled. “I want you to be happy and to succeed—“

Anakin gritted his teeth. Did words not mean the same thing to Obi-Wan? “Not _for_ me. From.”

The hitch in Obi-Wan’s breath didn’t escape his notice. It took him a moment to speak, but when he did, it was softly. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” He shuffled his arms into his robes, readying to turn away. “So much depends on what your Senator accepts, of course. If she refuses any change—“ Obi-Wan nodded as if conversing with himself. “Then that is how it’ll be. I will remain your friend, for as long as you’ll have me.”

So typically Obi-Wan. So infuriatingly, frustratingly like him. “Forget Padmé,” Anakin snarled. “Forget what _I_ want.” Grabbing Obi-Wan by the shoulders, he forced them to face each other, foreheads nanometers apart. “I want to know what _you_ want.” But his anger burned away as quickly as it’d come on, leaving him to beg. “Forget everyone else. Please.”

His eyes were his ever-calm blue-grey. “To be with you.”

“How?”

He practically laughed, shoulders shaking with humourless mirth. “Shall I count the ways? I want you as my lover. I want you as my friend, and my brother. Force help me, I don’t know what any of it means. I don’t know the details. I just know the answer is you.”

A shiver ran down Anakin’s back, followed by a wave of heat. If he could’ve self-combusted on the set, he would’ve. That or kissed Obi-Wan breathless. “Master,” was all he could say. Spontaneous emulation from sheer emotion and expressions of affection both off-limits, Anakin settled for running his hands to Obi-Wan’s lapels. He fingered the thick cotton of his robes, staring downwards. “Since when don’t you have a plan?” Anakin asked, dazed. He didn’t know what to do with this, this— wall of feelings. Giddy joy. Love. Want. Fear.

“Since I’ve met you, I suppose.”

They shared a look that contained all they could not yet express. Affection. A common desire for closeness. Obi-Wan’s love, for once, was palpable. With shaking hands, Anakin cupped his face. Surely this much was alright, for one so dear. “I want to share something with you. Can I?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan placed his hands over Anakin’s. The touch thrilled him. “Anything.”

*

 

R2’s projection did the Senator justice. She flickered large and clear, colours beyond static-green all but present. Her hair was down, flowing luxurious and curly over her shoulders. Her gown was simple and sheer. Obi-Wan cast his gaze downward.Not since he’d been assigned as her bodyguard just before the war had he seen her in such an intimate state.

Her eyes shone with warmth and love. This message was for Anakin and Anakin alone. “I shouldn’t be here,” Obi-Wan murmured.

Anakin squeezed his hand. “Stay.”

In perfecting timing, the recorded Senator spoke. “Ani. I hear you’re not well.” She tilted her head. “I can’t imagine what could bring you down, you’re the strongest person I know.”

Besides him, Anakin glowed. Obi-Wan shifted awkwardly. Forget the privacy of the message itself— he shouldn’t be intruding on Anakin’s reacting to his wife. This was between lovers. He had no business being here.

The Senator brought a hand to her chest. “Whatever it is, Ani. Beat it. I can feel you hurting out there, wherever you are. Get better. Come back to me.” Ever so gently, she pressed the palms of her hands to her lips; kissed them. Obi-Wan looked away. Her hands may have been a poor substitute for Anakin, but the implication was clear. “I need you.”

Obi-Wan flushed. He’d always known Anakin loved the Senator, but to see it— This wasn’t anything like what he and Anakin shared, forever tempered by their duty and years of bickering. Anakin would never be this affectionate with him and, to be honest, Obi-Wan didn’t think he could ever let himself be _this_ vulnerable.

R2’s projection faded, ending the recording. Obi-Wan cleared his throat, loath to witness Anakin’s star-struck eyes. “She seems quite… the woman.”

“She is,” Anakin whispered.

“Should I leave you?” he asked bluntly. “I imagine you’ll want to see it again.” And again, and again. It wasn’t that Obi-Wan was jealous. He just— the Senator could call for Anakin’s love so easily, like stepping into sunlight and soaking its rays. Did she take it for granted, having Anakin’s adoration so easily?

But before he could turn away, Anakin snatched his wrist. He bore a desperate expression. “Master, I have to tell you something.”

“First sharing, now telling?” Obi-Wan said casually, trying to mask his conflicted reaction to Padmé’s message. “This is quite the informative day we’re having.”

“No jokes, Master. This is serious.” Anakin bit the inside of his lip; squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand harder. “I’m cured.”

Cured: the word he’d wanted to hear since “poison” was first spoken. The clock against Anakin’s life was no longer running out. No more mouth-fucking. No more complications in their partnership or Anakin’s relationship with Padmé. Things were right again. And still, it felt like the bottom of Obi-Wan’s stomach was giving out. “Oh.”

Anakin shifted his weight from one foot to another. His grip was so tight it did actually hurt. That’d bruise, Obi-Wan thought absently. Not that it mattered. “Sorry, Master,” Anakin apologized. If it was for the bruising or losing their one excuse to be intimate, Obi-Wan didn’t know.

But really, the news changed nothing. They were still compromised. Anakin's relationship with Padme, and both of theirs with the Jedi code. And if they were going to be at odds with the oaths they’d sworn, well, at least Obi-Wan could try to relieve Anakin’s burden. He was tired of fighting. He just wanted to see him happy. “Well,” Obi-Wan said dryly, “Unlucky me.”

Anakin stared at him in disbelief. His grip slackened. “Did you just joke about not getting blow jobs anymore?”

Obi-Wan quirked his mouth into a smile. “Noticed that, did you.” 

Anakin gave a short, but genuine, laugh. And that was when Obi-Wan knew that even if they couldn’t touch beyond bruise-forming grabs for the rest of the journey, that they’d be just fine.


	10. Chapter 10

The rest of the journey was subdued. They spoke only as needed, to confirm routes and ship maintenance. Even in the timelessness of space, Obi-Wan followed the sleep schedule of a standard day; Anakin stayed awake as long as humanly possible and crashed when his limitations caught up to him. 

Anakin did not ask again to share a bed. He kept to himself, as if walling himself from contact was the only way keep himself properly restrained. It was Obi-Wan who laced their brief and infrequent run-ins with gentle, innocuous touches. A hand to Anakin’s shoulder when asking if he wanted a meal (no); a pat to the arm when Anakin volunteered to navigate this stretch of the journey (as he usually did); brushing hands when investigating a malfunctioning piece of equipment (Anakin fixed the wiring). It was small comfort, but some comfort was better than none.

The closer they got to Coruscant, the more Anakin withdrew. Obi-Wan had not seen him for a couple of standard days when it was time to land. When he reached the cockpit ahead of landing, Anakin was already there, nodding to him as he took the co-pilot's seat. Most pairs would need to talk to coordinate the landing, but not them; they worked together in silence. 

It’d been quiet so long that walking off the ship’s plank was a shock to Obi-Wan. Noises thrived around them. Docking crews yelled instructions and lewd commentary; air-cruiser jets roared as they took flight; and air-compressors emitted their ear-piercing high-pitched whines. No one was still, from the tiniest mouse-droid wiping floors to clone soldiers gathering for their next mission. Obi-Wan rubbed his temples to ward off the oncoming headache. He hadn’t missed the bustle.

In counterpoint to the dock’s tumult, Anakin was stonily taciturn. Not even his boots seemed to make a sound.

They had orders to report immediately to the Jedi Council. Obi-Wan did not see that ending well. 

He touched Anakin’s arm, asking him to stop. Even through the layers of robe, Obi-Wan felt him stiffen. “You go on ahead,” Obi-Wan said. “Go to Padmé. I’ll talk to the Council.”

It was the first emotion he’d seen on Anakin’s face in days. Hope. Fear. He’d respected Anakin’s unspoken wish for space, but surely they were past that now. Obi-Wan pressed their foreheads together. Would this be the last time they could be this close? He tried to preserve this moment in his heart and mind. “Don’t worry. No matter what happens, I will stand with you.”

Anakin closed his eyes. Seemed to relax. “Thank you, Master.” Still kept his hands by his sides. “May the Force be with you.”

“And you, old friend.”

*

Anakin broke all manner of traffic laws on his speeder to get to Padme as fast as he could. At her balcony, he barely bothered to brake before leaping off the vehicle and running straight for her. She was there waiting for him and they collided halfway across the landing platform in a crushing hug. He spun her around, once, twice, before pulling her in close and burying his face deep in the crook of her neck. “Padmé,” Anakin breathed.

“Ani,” she whispered back. They clung together for dear life. It was like an eternity had passed since they last saw each other; like no time had passed at all. She was so familiar, and so dear. Her hair was richly braided with pearls, a new look for her, but her perfume was the same one as when they first met again as Senator and Jedi. Her arms encircled him desperately just as his hands threaded through her hair, trying to take in as much of each other as possible. They knew too bitterly that any time together was fleeting. “You came back,” she sighed between kisses to lips and cheeks and throat.

“Always,” he vowed. 

It was the easiest thing in the world to slip into each other’s orbits. Anakin picked her up effortlessly and carried her into to the bedroom. He didn’t even have to think. Nothing else mattered, not as long as he had her. As long as he was hers. He dipped her into the luxurious covers and tumbled on to her. He needed her. Now. 

“I love you.” Her wrists were so small, as delicate as a bird’s bones. He wrapped his hands around them, pinning her down to the velvety covers. Because nothing was actually so simple as the hot kisses they shared, but he could pretend otherwise. 

“Ani,” Padmé said, and if there was a warning there, he chose to ignore it. 

“Padmé,” he supplicated. Be mine. Be the one thing in my life on which I can rely. With his weight against her body, his tight grasp around her sharp wrist bones, she couldn’t go anywhere. His kisses probed deep into her mouth, muffling her words. Everything was going to be okay. She was his. 

Her knee gently but firmly pressed into his abdomen. 

At first, Anakin tightened his hold in panic. She couldn’t give up on him. Anything but that. He needed her. 

Their eyes flew open simultaneously: his wild and scared, hers bewildered. 

“What in stars’ end, Ani?” She was trapped, a specimen too precious to be released. He knew how strong she was, yet she didn't push back; it filled Anakin with shame. She trusted him this much. He couldn't violate that trust. Not again. He drew back sharply and turned around, hugging his knees. She followed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He avoided looking at her wrists, which might already be bruising. How could he have so much power and yet be so weak, hurting his wife, unable to hold on to her? As if in response to his silent recriminations, Padmé rested her head against his shoulder. 

Anakin breathed in deep. Savoured what might be their last moment as husband and wife. 

“Ani, something’s wrong, I know it. Talk to me.” 

If he said nothing, he’d lose Obi-Wan for sure. Obi-Wan had made it clear he wouldn’t brook any notion of intimacy between them before Anakin consulted Padmé. If he told Padmé— well, who knew. He had to confess he didn’t know his own wife well enough to predict how she’d react. She might understand, and then he could have everything, everyone, he wanted. She might not. 

Anakin never could make the safe bet.

“I’m in love with Obi-Wan,” he blurted out.

*

The words were so random she couldn’t make sense of them. “What?” It was like Threepio was set to translating into the wrong language.

But Anakin said them again. He was like a geyser, words spilling out uncontrollably. How he’d been sick and had to give Obi-Wan blow jobs as part of some bizarre Separatist ploy. How he couldn’t help but want more than just the oral sex because, in the end, “I’ve always loved him,” he said miserably. He was a large man, but he shrunk to almost nothing, curled into himself. 

She laid her hand over his through his verbal gush. Eventually his words petered out, leaving only silence. “I don’t know what to say,” Padmé admitted. Shouldn’t her heart be breaking? Her husband was in love with someone else. But mostly her thoughts were spinning. What did any of this mean for them? She’d imagined a million deaths for her Ani; countless ways to get the news. In her nightmares she wandered the Senate halls as a widow, bearing concealed grief. There were so many ways she’d expected to be parted from him. 

But never because Ani had fallen for his friend and mentor and the person he talked about incessantly— 

Oh. 

As if reading her mind, Anakin gripped her hand tightly. His stare was hard intense. “I love you, Padmé,” he declared, desperation colouring his tone. “I’ve never loved you more, you have to know you’re the only one for me—“ 

“Then why are you saying you’re in love with Obi-Wan?!” 

He shut up immediately, turning pale. 

They sat there, mute and unhappy. 

“You can’t leave me,” Anakin implored. 

Padmé sighed. Her husband and love had a flair for the dramatic. “Have I said anything of the sort? I don’t even know what I think, much less what I want to do.”

“Are you going to make me wait?” He jerked back. “I’ve been waiting for days to know what you’d say, I can’t take it any longer!”

“Ani,” she exclaimed, exasperated. “I found out five minutes ago you’re in love with someone else and had sex with them. Give me a break.”

“They were just blow jobs,” Anakin protested. “And only because I was dying!”

Padmé held back the urge to roll her eyes. “Okay, you held back, I get it. But would you have sex with him if you could?” 

He twisted his mouth; turned away. Then, so quietly she almost didn’t hear: “Yeah.” 

Such desires were… normal. It wasn’t unheard of for couples to take on other lovers. It still hurt. “And you want me to stay with you,” Padmé said, her throat strangely tight. She could address a room brimming with the galaxy’s leaders in a booming voice, but this one man could reduce her to tears. 

Anakin nodded. “Please.” It was a whisper. 

She almost didn’t dare voice the thought out loud. But Padmé had never backed down from the truth and she wasn’t about to start. “You want us both.” She gazed at her folded hands in her lap. What care her handmaidens had taken in painting her fingernails dark green, the better to compliment the earth-tone robes she’d wear to the Senate today. All this make-up and clothes, smokes and mirrors— it felt for naught. “And you want my permission.” Her voice stayed true and steady. It almost sounded reasonable.

“I can’t live without either one of you.” 

It wasn’t an answer, but the truth itself. Like it or not, Anakin knew no subtlety. His heart was ever present on his sleeve. Padmé had never been in doubt of his character. When they were wed, she knew him through and through, strengths and weaknesses alike. Even with— and because of— this knowledge, she’d sworn herself to him. She couldn’t cry buyer’s remorse. “Can I have some time to process? I’m just in some shock.”

Anakin turned white. Trembled. She knew that look. Before his sadness could erupt into uncontainable, violent rage, she embraced him. Let him know he needn’t be afraid. “Let’s figure this out, Ani.” He was muscle and speed and agility, but shaking in her arms like this, he felt more a fragile, half-starved bird. “I can’t snap my fingers and get you an answer, but I love you. We’ll get through this.”

Hot tears pressed against her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Padmé.” 

She closed her eyes; stroked his hair. “I know.”

*

No attachments, the Jedi Code dictated. No possessions, no roots. Live each moment as it comes.

Obi-Wan abided by the Code. He still felt a warm comfort as he drove through the air-traffic. As annoying as the traffic jams were, this was still Coruscant. He could not but recognize it as home. For all that he could find peace and ease in any corner of the galaxy, his mind and heart would forever recognize the city-planet as the place where he’d grown up. His sense of homecoming only increased as he docked at the Temple. 

Count it as another infraction against the Code. They’d seemed minor and acceptable thus far. Obi-Wan was human, not perfect. But stacking up his faults, at what point did minor flaws become major impediments? No need to be so dramatic, he told himself. It was only natural he was eyeing himself so critically after his change of heart in this latest trip. 

Master Windu awaited him at the landing strip. As ever, he emanated a sense of duty and obligation. They bowed to each other in greeting. “It is good to see you, Kenobi.” Stern and indomitable expression aside, there was a subtle inflection of camaraderie in his voice. Even the Council’s most illustrious members could have feelings— of friendship and fear of loss; of relief at a colleague’s return. Perfection, so sought and idealized: so fraught and elusive. 

“The same to you, old friend.” Not that they were particularly close as colleagues, but as they turned to walk side-by-side, Obi-Wan patted Windu on the back. The gesture came to him naturally, surely borne from days of reassuring Anakin with small touches. Of finding gentle ways to express affection. Windu arched an eyebrow almost in question but made no remark. It wasn’t a warm reaction, exactly. That one look would’ve made Padawans melt in embarrassment. But Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to regret the motion. There was no harm in acknowledging genuine feelings, no matter how steeled the Jedi preferred to present themselves. 

“How’s the war?” Obi-Wan asked. And so they fell into discussion of the Separatists' latest moves and how to best counter.

*

Padmé sat by a marble fountain, her dark curly tresses stealing from underneath velvet robes. The material shimmered a phosphorescent gold-green. “Master Kenobi,” she said. Padmé's face was plain. Simple, genuine, and inviting. And, perhaps more important for this outing, unrecognizable.

Obi-Wan bowed to her as she rose to her feet. “Senator.” She extended her arm and, gentlemanly, he accepted it. The moves were route and polite, but they followed each other’s cues with such ease it was as if they were reading each other’s minds. “Shall we go for a walk?”

“It would be my pleasure.” 

They ambled through labyrinthine garden hedges. Coruscant’s usual droning motor and energizer noise were distant, muted by greenery and cicada calls. It almost reminded Obi-Wan of Naboo. No wonder she had chosen this spot when inviting him for a “discussion.” He found his not inconsiderable qualms quieting. 

When Padmé spoke, she belied her political training and went straight for the kill. “You’re in love with Anakin.” 

Obi-Wan dipped his head. His sorest point; but somehow, it felt right hearing it from her. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.” 

She looked off in another direction, but patted his arm. “I haven’t been blind, you know. I’ve seen all you do for him— the shape you’ve given his life and character. He complains about you all the time.” 

He barked a short, surprised laugh. “You don’t hold back, do you.” 

She looked at him again. Her eyes were dark brown and piercing. “He complains about most everyone, but you especially. You mean a lot to him, Master Kenobi. I honestly think he’d be lost without you.” 

His eyebrows came together in a frown. That was quite the accusation. He’d hoped to train Anakin into independence. “To completely frank, Senator, I cannot tell if you jest with me or are serious.” 

A slight smile tugged at the edge of her lips. “You’ve come in my husband’s mouth. You’ll forgive me some teasing.” 

He reddened, flustered at first at her directness, but then the key word hit him. “Husband?” 

Padmé tilted her head. “You didn’t know?” 

Marriage. Of course. Trust Anakin to sink those he wanted into the deepest depths of commitment— that he then dishonoured. “I knew you were together. Like you, I am not blind. But I never realized— since when?” 

“Since the start of the war. We feared the worst. Please understand, Master Kenobi. I knew our love was forbidden. But I couldn’t be without him.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “It was foolish and impulsive, and I’d do it again in a heart beat.” 

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. “Anakin does have that effect.” 

She laughed, clearly relieved. “Yes, he does.” 

They were silent again as they walked. Obi-Wan tried to grapple with the thought Anakin’s marriage. It was an affront against the Order. And what did it say about Obi-Wan, who was disrupting the commitment that broke Anakin’s sworn vows to the Jedi? A house built on sand was surely destined to crumble. “I never meant—“ Obi-Wan started, unsure how to proceed. “And I wouldn’t have ever done anything, ever—“ 

“But he was dying,” Padmé said. “And you compromised your ethical code to save him. I thank you, Master Kenobi. For curing Anakin and saving his life on so many occasions. And now you’re caught up in his wake.” 

“You are kind,” Obi-Wan said. 

She did not respond to his statement, staring instead into the distance. “The thing about Ani,” she said as if to herself, “is that he doesn’t give up when he sets sight on something he wants. He won’t let go.” 

“Noticed that about him, have you?” 

“If he’s fallen in love with you, then nothing I say or do is going to change that.” She shook her lead. “He’s loved you since before he came to know me as a adult.” 

Part of Obi-Wan couldn’t help but thrill at the very thought that Anakin loved him back, and had for so long. He was also appalled. It wasn’t right. His Padawan shouldn’t have held him so dear. He himself shouldn’t have come to reciprocate those feelings. But this was contemplation to be done in private, in his own time. Padmé was the focus here. “You could insist,” Obi-Wan protested. “If you are not comfortable with him being with someone else—” 

“And make him unhappy?” She interrupted sternly. “Deny him his heart’s desire and drive him to resent me?” She laughed bitterly. “He has done worse than long for you, Master Kenobi. I love him still. This I can bear. No— more than that. I think you would be good for him. You keep him balanced. He needs that.” 

Another question for a better time: what could possibly be worse? He almost didn’t want to know. 

Padmé continued. “So I know what Anakin wants, and what I can bear. All that leaves us with is you, Master Kenobi. What is it you want? What can you accept?”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “It feels like that’s all anyone ever wants to know these days. When did my innermost thoughts become a glass house?” 

“Since you started knocking on their door begging for entry.” 

He looked up at the sky, scheduled by the local Coruscant government for perfect weather. Unlike the times Anakin had cornered him on the ship, he’d had time to reflect on his answer. After all, it wasn’t fair to make demands without giving the parameters. Not when so much in Anakin’s and Padmé’s lives were at stake. “If I may be so bold, Senator…”

“Please.” 

“If I could ask for anything, it’d simply be for the opportunity for Anakin and I to explore our mutual attraction, physically and emotionally.” 

Padmé cocked an eyebrow up. “Do you need a lawyer to write that contract up for you?” 

Obi-Wan choked in good humour at the probe. “I realize that sounds excessively formal, but I’m sincere. I have no idea if this— attraction will run its due course, or if Anakin will change his mind after sleeping with his old Master.” 

“You assume it’s Anakin who would lose interest.” 

“I don’t believe it would be me.” 

“What if it doesn’t ‘run its due course’? Would this relationship not go against the Jedi Code you’re so much better at upholding than Anakin?”

“Why is it, Senator, that you’re the one asking me all the hard questions?” 

“I have talent and training in debate, Master Kenobi. And you haven’t answered the question.” 

Fierce and steadfast, as ever. Obi-Wan could not fault Anakin for loving her so. “It would indeed go against the Code.” 

“You’re at peace with this?” Padmé worried at a nail with her teeth. “It bothers even Anakin, the secrecy. He does do his best to pretend otherwise, but I can tell it gets to him.” 

As direct as Anakin was, Obi-Wan could imagine the challenge for him in trying to serve two very different goals and needs, each more often than not pulling him in different directions. Still. “I believe I can handle taking on Anakin. I try to act without regrets.” 

She gave him a skeptical look, which he chose to ignore. “Now for my last question, Master Kenobi. You’ve told me what you want, but I must know: have you any intention of keeping Anakin to yourself?” 

“And try to tame a dragon?” Obi-Wan scoffed. “I could no more make him give you up than cut off his limbs.” 

“That wasn’t my question. Do you want to?” 

But Obi-Wan was already shaking his head. “No. He needs you too much, Senator.” 

She nodded. “I see. In that case, I think the three of us can reach an agreeable resolution.” 

“Would you like that lawyer?”

Laughing, she swatted his arm. They walked further, talking about the Senate and Jedi politics. It was not an unpleasant way to pass an afternoon.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! And that this is a shorter chapter than usual.
> 
> The good news is, I have a rough draft of the next (and probably last) two chapters. Eeee, this story's end is within sight! :D
> 
> Everyone, thank you for reading thus far and for your support. 
> 
> Special thanks to cheerleaders/beta Becky & Zulu. You know why. ♥

Obi-Wan took a deep breath as the elevator zipped upwards and crossed his arms. The ride to Senator Amidala’s residence seemed to grow longer each time he made the journey. His mood was not improved by the sight of Threepio at the top floor. 

“Good afternoon, Master Kenobi. Please allow me to be of service to you. May I take your robe? Perhaps you’d like a drink. We have anything you might wish for, wines, juices, spirits—“ 

“That’s quite all right,” Obi-Wan said smoothly yet briskly. 

“Are you certain? There must be something—“ 

“Threepio!” Padmé exclaimed, rushing over. Her loose hair was everywhere, the one attempt at taming it a small bright blue ornament on the back of her neck. “We’re good, you can shut off and run maintenance for the rest of the day.” 

Through a face made of metal, Threepio managed an affronted expression quite masterfully. “Well, if you insist…” 

“I do,” Padmé said, all but pushing him away. “You’ll need to be in full repair for the upcoming state dinner, won’t you?” 

His gold seemed to shine again. “Quite right you are, my Lady. Truly, you are most thoughtful.” 

“Thank you, Threepio.” Padmé said. The droid tottered off into the recesses of the apartment. She touched Obi-Wan’s arm lightly. “Sorry about that, Master Kenobi. He can be overzealous and Ani won’t hear of reprogramming him.” 

“That’s quite all right,” Obi-Wan assured Padmé. “No harm done.” 

The back of Obi-Wan’s neck tingled as if the room’s temperature dropped several degrees. He turned around. Anakin was skulking by the corner. 

“But he’s not wrong about the robe, Master. Care to get comfortable?” Although Anakin wore his usual attire, there was a quality to his slouch that cried familiarity, as if he were about to kick his feet up on an ornamental table. He was at home. 

“I’m plenty comfortable,” Obi-Wan said, though he did suddenly feel itchy around his collar. Here were Padmé and Anakin, all three of them about to embark on the most personal negotiation of his life. 

Anakin shrugged. “Suit yourself.” 

Padmé shot Anakin a look. “What I think he’s trying to say is, please make yourself at home.” She waved at the centrepiece sofas in the living room. When Anakin was still his Padawan and dreaming of a Queen he’d met as a child, Obi-Wan had sat in this very room. But now Anakin sat beside that same Queen and Obi-Wan was opposite them. He was now the outsider. 

“Master Kenobi, thank you for joining us.” Though Padmé sat with a straight back and her chin high, she looked completely at ease. Anakin kept an arm along her back, one leg crossed over the other. “I thought it’d be best to discuss the details of our arrangement all three of us together.” 

“Are you proposing a treaty?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“What are all human relationships but contracts formalized to different degrees?” Padmé retorted.

“Can we _not_ be weird about this?” Anakin complained. He started to pull Padmé’s hair into ringlets on his fingers. He refused to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze. 

Obi-Wan and Padmé shared a glance. This might be a shorter conversation than they’d hoped for.

*

Anakin had never been so uncomfortable in his life. He shifted this and that way, unable to sit still. Obi-Wan and Padmé were completely impossible. How could they just keep talking and talking? This was _his_ heart, his relationships. There wasn’t anything for them to discuss beyond “okay.” The Council and war already controlled his life. He didn’t need more manipulation from the very people who were supposed to care about him. 

Padmé gave him _that_ look. He was in trouble. “I think ‘weird’ is the only way to approach the abnormal,” she said.

Not normal indeed. They’d met up and talked about him. That wasn’t normal at all. Why the fuck would they do that? Obi-Wan and Padmé had nothing to do with each other. They weren’t even friends with each other. They were _his_. 

Anakin leapt up and paced the room. 

“I have to agree with the Senator,” Obi-Wan said in his infuriatingly even tone. Why did he have to care so freaking much what his Master thought? Anakin’s heart twisted, angry and frustrated. Obi-Wan just didn’t _get_ it. Didn’t even try. “This is all new to us— well, to me, anyway— so trying something different only makes sense.” 

“If you agree so much, maybe you two should hook up,” Anakin snarled. 

Padmé’s hurt expression satisfied his anger. Good. Let her feel his pain. 

*

Irritation flared in Obi-Wan, as sudden and quick as flames on paper. How deeply unfair. How _dare_ he. 

But Anakin stood there, arms crossed as if in the right. He lacked all common sense. Nothing new there. After a decade of trying to coach him otherwise, he still had no impulse control. Obi-Wan had always known this about Anakin. He didn’t have to _like_ this about him, but for any relationship with him to work, he’d have to accept it. 

Obi-Wan and the Senator glanced at each other with a touch of synchronicity. He saw the hurt on her face— as well as the same acceptance he felt. Padmé nodded, giving her consent. They were in this together. 

He grabbed Anakin by the scruff of his neck. Anakin yelped in surprise. “You,” Obi-Wan said categorically, “are being ridiculous. You have to realize we are doing this _for_ you.” 

Anakin scowled. “Feels more like controlling.” 

Padmé held Anakin’s hand. “We’re just trying to help. This arrangement must work for all of us, or it won’t work at all. Don’t be a jerk.” 

He glared at the carpet, rebelliously mute. The negativity in him shimmered and grew like a brewing tempest. 

“Do you need me to show you?” Obi-Wan asked, voice low. He didn’t even need to look at Padmé to know: she understood and agreed. They might be mere friendly acquaintances, but in their knowledge of Anakin, they could practically read each other’s minds. Anakin, for his part, coiled further into himself resentfully. “ _Look_ at me,” Obi-Wan ordered. 

He clenched a fistful of Anakin’s hair and tugged his face up. Anakin scowled, ready to push and hit back. How in all the galaxy had he ever survived the war this long with feelings this volatile? “We’ve got you,” Obi-Wan promised and pressed his lips against Anakin’s with all the passion he felt. Poured himself into that one kiss. Anakin startled, lips parting open. Gasped a soft sound, tilting into Obi-Wan. They fell into a partial hug, Padmé still holding Anakin’s hand tight. 

When they parted, Anakin licked his mouth nervously. He shot a glance at Padmé. 

Padmé’s smile was rueful and soft, as if she were still coming to terms with what she had to accept. She captured Anakin’s jaw and shared their own deep kiss. “I love you,” she said. The Anakin they held was soft, pliable. Meditative, almost. “Now can you get over yourself and let us talk?” 

He frowned, but it was with a fraction of his earlier intensity. “What’s left to talk about? I want you both. Either you’re okay with it or you're not.” Even as he protested, his mechanical fingers dug into Obi-Wan’s hip. The sharpness gave away his fear, begging for it to _be_ okay after all. 

Obi-Wan gave him the only reassurance he knew how. He tenderly stroking a curl away from Anakin’s forehead. “I don’t know if it’s that simple,” he confessed. 

“Why not?” Anakin demanded.

He shrugged, feeling out of sorts. This was too radical a change for the transition to be easy. “I’m the outsider. It’s not my right to be okay or not.” 

Padmé wrapped herself around Anakin’s flesh arm. Obi-Wan recognized the simple yet effective grounding measure. His shoulders lowered perceptibly. “I think I know what you mean, Ani. You may say you don’t have the right, Obi-Wan, but that doesn’t mean you _feel_ that way.” 

Anakin’s gaze at Padmé was filled with appreciation, as if grateful that she’d translated his thoughts. “Yeah. And, Master, how can— you can’t mean to actually break the Code.” Obi-Wan could fill in the gap himself: how can you be okay with loving me when you’re married to the Order? Anakin still doubted his commitment. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and drew in a steadying breath. He was _beyond_ done discussing his feelings. What he wanted, what he didn’t, and what he actually meant. No wonder Anakin had been so short just now, frustrated to the brim. All the more reason to find his own calm. If Anakin struggled to maintain balance, then Obi-Wan truly must remain the solid rock. Breathe in, breathe out.

Quite naturally, Obi-Wan’s hand found Anakin’s. His hands held on either side, Anakin’s tension found release, as if the three of them formed a conduit. His expression smoothed from irritation to bewilderedly pleased. Good. Satisfying, even. Obi-Wan could get used to seeing him this happy. Padmé leaned into Anakin, resting against his side.

“I am prepared for you to maintain your relationship with Padmé,” Obi-Wan allowed himself to say. She smiled encouragingly. “I don’t want or mean to come between you two.” The cautious joy on Anakin’s face was almost painful to Obi-Wan. The emotional weight had almost been too much to bear, perhaps. He longed to kiss him again, to ease away that ache. But no. Not yet. “And you, Padmé?” 

Her eyes were bright and proud. “With the understanding that Ani will love me as before, Obi-Wan, I can accept you two coming together.” 

Anakin looked fit to burst. “Is that it?” 

Obi-Wan checked in with Padmé. “I think so. And you?” 

She nodded her assent. “Yes.” 

Here it was. His throat suddenly felt parched. “Then, please, can I—“ 

“Yes.” 

It might’ve been Anakin or Padmé who said it, but Obi-Wan didn’t know or care. That one word from either one was enough. He drew Anakin in and kissed him for all he was worth, a dam of want breaking within him. He was this close to moaning; to throwing Anakin down on the closest surface. But there was formalizing an agreement, and then there was respect. Not in Padmé’s home. 

Anakin’s hands curled around Obi-Wan’s nape. Had he not gotten the memo about respect? But he relented, parting from Obi-Wan with a sigh. Without a pause, he then kissed Padmé just as hard. “I love you,” he swore, vehement and fragile. 

“Yes,” Padmé said, serious. “You'd better.” 

Their negotiation concluded, Obi-Wan bid them goodbye shortly afterwards. As he left through the apartment’s docking station, he took a moment to watch evening fall. The Coruscant sun was setting, brilliant and heart-breaking in all its colours. 


	12. Chapter 12

Honestly, Obi-Wan didn’t want to think about what Anakin and Padmé were doing back in their home. Acceptance was one thing; he didn’t need to dwell. But surely, even as he rode his airspeeder back to the Temple, the two of them were— images flashed in his mind. Their bodies twined, lost in the throes of passion. How did Anakin look, when he was with Padmé? Was it anything like when he’d… The wind cut into Obi-Wan’s cheeks and hands as he drove, cold and biting. 

He wasn’t ready to sit in his room. He needed perspective, not a small space in which to brood. 

Once he landed at the temple, Obi-Wan let the Force guide him, following a soft tug of gut instinct. He walked past groups of Jedi. The halls were less crowded than in the middle of the day, but the corridors were still busy, particularly with nocturnal species. He nodded politely at them and they nodded back, their reflective eyes glowing. 

If he went up to the Council room, he’d probably run into a Master ready to impart a war task on him. But that wasn’t where Obi-Wan was led. Rather, he found himself quite isolated in a Northern yard specializing in temperate-zone plants. The air was damp and warmer than in the hallways. “Trust the Force,” he said to himself. 

An urge to sit by a brook called him; he obeyed. Its babble was soft and melodic; Obi-Wan focused on its sound. Emptied his mind. He was no one, just another being in this great galaxy. 

The brook’s babbling was broken by a repetitive thump. “Yoda,” Obi-Wan called. He’d know the sound of that cane anywhere. 

“Obi-Wan,” Yoda said. “Good to see you alive, it is.” A common refrain from the past few years. 

“And you as well, Master. Care to join me?” 

“Refuse, I cannot.” His colleague and symbol of the council sat beside him. As they meditated, time ceased to have meaning. Obi-Wan’s focus and concentration increased as if Yoda’s mere presence boosted his spirit. It was not their first time meditating together, but— there was something bittersweet to this session. As if Obi-Wan should cherish it. 

It was Yoda who broke their silence. “Weigh, something does, on your mind. Disrupted, your energy is.” 

He was not wrong. Obi-Wan clenched his fists. “I feel it is my last time here,” he confessed. 

“Hmmm,” Yoda said neutrally. “Your own death, you sense?” 

A fair question. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, probing past the soft disquiet of contemplating his own mortality. All these years he’d been but a vessel for the Force. If his time had come, then so be it. He would accept his fate. But— no. A deep breath filled his lungs. The path before him was cloudy, but even if the details were vague, it felt wide. Long. Welcoming. An unimagined adventure beckoned him. “No… not death, no.” 

“A change ahead of you, I sense.” 

Obi-Wan reached his senses towards the grounds they sat on and into the Temple’s centre. The Force reverberated with a familiar energy. So many lives at work here, and so many memories. He had his place here. This was home and always would be. And yet, he felt like a ripening fruit just before it fell off the tree. Any future that didn’t include the Temple was unfathomable— then why did what Yoda say feel so right? 

“Aren’t you going to try to stop me?” Obi-Wan asked.

Yoda snorted. “Eight hundred years lived, I have, and and little, learned. But know this, I do: change your mind, I cannot. Accept your path, I must.”

Humbled, Obi-Wan lowered his head. “Thank you, Master.” 

“The Force be with you, I wish.” 

“Yes, Master. Always. You as well.” 

*

That night, Anakin and Padmé affirmed their connection. They made slow, deliberate love. Anakin kissed her like an apology: not sorry enough to change, but enough to express regret. Padmé accepted his gentle touches for what they were and welcomed him into her embrace. She took him in as he was, and that was enough. 

After they lay in bed and Padmé nestled into Anakin. She fell asleep quickly, as she always did. So trusting. He kissed the crown of her curls and held her even as his arms cramped. If only he could stop time here, with his love breathing soft and even against him. He’d turn the universe onto itself for that one wish.

But lacking that power, he contented himself in simply being with her. 

The sun rose when she blinked awake. She stretched along his side. “Didn’t sleep again, Ani?”

“Nah.” He couldn’t, not when their time together was so little and precious. He cupped her chin and she giggled, trying to swat him away. 

“Stop! My breath’s atrocious.” 

“Never.” He smiled. “I like it.” 

“You’re just saying you like stinky breath!” 

That warranted kisses and tickles until Padmé was gasping for mercy. Her eyes shone and nothing, nothing was more beautiful. Thank goodness he hadn’t fucked this up yet. Thank the Force she could love him after how much he’d hurt her. He was blessed. “You’re amazing,” Anakin said frankly, heart bared. 

She kissed the tip of his nose. “You’re not bad yourself.” 

Padmé wriggled away, slipping on a chemise. He rolled wistfully to watch her morning ablutions. “I have to leave today. They’re putting me back on duty.” Was he a bad person, that he was relieved at how her shoulders froze? She feared for him. 

“Guess they couldn’t give you a leave of absence forever.” Her tone was sorrowful, but turned positive. “I’m sure you’re itching to get back into action.” 

Drawn like a magnet to her beauty, Anakin held her from behind. Kissed her nape. “Not as much as I want to stay with you.” 

“If you go with Obi-Wan, you can get in some quality time with him.”

Anakin flinched. But he kind of deserved it. 

Maybe the timing was awkward, but he had something to give her. And really, was there ever a good time to present your wife with a memento of how you were forced into repeated oral sex with your boyfriend? Probably not. “I got you a present.” 

“Oh?”

Anakin smiled sheepishly. “BT, come here!” He rolled in, his brushes bristling with a fresh wash. “It’s a droid.” 

Over the past few days, Anakin had uploaded protections databases into BT. What with its intuition of human behaviour, tactical abilities, and now his background information on physical protection, Padmé would be the safest being this side of the galaxy. It was the next best thing to having Anakin himself glued to her side.

“Huh.” Padmé lowered herself to be eye-to-eye with the short machine. “Nice to meet you, BT.”

“I look forward to productive strategizing with you,” BT replied. 

To her credit, she didn’t startle at his unusual introduction. But she did arch her eyebrows at Anakin. “Wasn’t Threepio enough?” 

Maybe he should wait to tell her where BT came from. “He’ll good for your politicking,” he said defensively. “And he’ll be the best bodyguard you’ve ever had. He’s a tactical mastermind.” 

“Thank you. I think.” She peered up at him. “And you’ll keep yourself safe?” 

That he couldn’t promise. Instead: “I’ll come back for you. Always.” 

They shared a final hug, but truth be told, Padmé hadn’t been wrong. Anakin’s heart raced, suddenly electrified by the thought: he’d be with Obi-Wan. Soon.

*

Anakin’s heart never settled, not as he tore through traffic on an airbike. He flew over the highest lanes and floored the gas pedal. Henearly ran into a dozen other vehicles and avoided each one with a last-minute twist. Faster and faster he went, all too aware that the only thing keeping him from Obi-Wan was distance itself. He had to get there. Now. Now. 

But after he’d landed in the spaceship bay and caught sight of his Master, Anakin’s steps slowed. He knew he wanted too much for this public space. To touch. To finally, after all this time, be touched back. And things he didn’t understand yet, but craved with burning intensity. 

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. 

“What’s our mission?” Anakin asked Obi-Wan without preamble, eyes stuck to the floor. He couldn’t trust himself with what he’d do, if he caught his Master’s gaze. Throw himself at him, at the very least. And from there, who knew. Nothing publicly decent. 

“We’re delivering rations and medicine to Colla IV.” Obi-Wan’s voice was calm and assured. How did he do it? Anakin was sweating out of his palms and Obi-Wan made seeing him again sound like same old, same old. Didn’t he care? 

Anakin crossed his arms petulantly. “That’s a cakewalk,” he grumbled. “Don’t they have anything harder?” Maybe the Council wasn’t convinced he was healthy again, even after the healers had run every possible test on him. He was fine. But honestly, he was less mad about the nature of their mission than by his Master’s breezy attitude. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Haste is of the essence, to keep these people from starving. I volunteered us for this mission because you’re our fastest pilot.” He glanced at a datapad, his bangs falling onto his forehead. He’d never touched him there, Anakin realized with a pang. There was so much of his Master he’d never explored. Desire and fury twisted in his gut. “Besides, since the risk for this trip is relatively low, we don’t need anyone else to accompany us. It’ll be just us two.” 

His tone was so casual it took a moment for realization to sink in. 

Just the two of them. 

Alone.

Heat exploded within Anakin, lighting up his face and body. Obi-Wan had engineered privacy for them under the guise of good works. “You’re sneaky, Master.” 

“You think so?” Obi-Wan’s voice was as dry as ever, but Anakin caught his slight smirk. 

Oh, this was on.

*

Warmth stirred in Obi-Wan’s groin even as he feigned business-like interest in their inventory. Anakin’s stare bored into him, demanding and confrontational. Just a bit longer— minutes. They could make it, hard as it was to believe. His armpits and lower back heated in nervousness and anticipation. If Obi-Wan’s hands didn’t shake as he signed the datapad confirming the shipment, it was from years of rigid training. He licked his lips. Almost there. This close to pounding Anakin into a mattress— 

The ship door had barely shut before Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan by the lapels. His eyes were wide, desperate. “Master.” 

Obi-Wan let a moment pass, then another. Anakin trembled. “Yes, Anakin?” He asked. As if he couldn’t sense the desire rolling off him in waves; as if he didn’t feel the same. A slight cruelty, perhaps, to extend the wait. But he wanted the verbal consent.To hear the words Anakin picked.

Anakin growled, frustrated. His clench tightened. He pulled in Obi-Wan until they were face to face. But when he spoke, his anger was a plea. “Don’t make me wait, please, I’ve been good, please—”Anakin’s panting came in wet and hot against Obi-Wan’s skin. “No more talking, I’m done talking, just touch me, please—” Anakin begged in an unbroken stream. 

Nothing held Obi-Wan back. Not the Code, not Padmé. Nothing. 

He kissed Anakin, effectively shutting him up; sucked on his lower lip. It just felt… natural. Right. Anakin’s resulting whimper, though, went straight into Obi-Wan’s heart. That’s what he wanted. Yes. More of that. But as he bit Anakin’s lip, Obi-Wan suddenly remembered: he’d spent the night with Padmé. 

He shoved Anakin against the nearest wall. “Tell me if you want to stop,” Obi-Wan murmured. Anakin answered in a long, wavering moan.

Had Padmé and Anakin done this too? Surely. Sweated and kissed and fucked— but that was the agreement. They would share this burning, no-holds-barred man. They would each treasure him in their way. If Anakin loved Padmé, that made no less whatever he had with Obi-Wan. All Obi-Wan could do was make the most of their time together. 

No holding back. 

He snuck a hand into Anakin’s pants and grasped his cock. He was half-hard. Anakin quivered at the sudden and intimate intrusion. Rocked his hips uncontrollably into Obi-Wan. In seconds he was rock-hard. His head tipped back, choking breaths in short gasps. Perfect. Beautiful. Obi-Wan tugged on Anakin’s hair, bringing their faces back together; stared unabashedly into Anakin’s wide eyes. He needed Anakin to know who exactly was doing this to him. Who made him feel this good. If he had to share, then Anakin would be present for every moment. 

Obi-Wan pumped mercilessly, lavishing Anakin’s mouth with his own. Two, three flicks of the wrist and Anakin came in his hand, unloading his spunk all over his Master’s fingers. Obi-Wan kept fisting him as he came, refusing to let up. “Unnhhh,” Anakin moaned without dignity. He was quite a sight, still fully dressed in his dark Jedi robes and convulsing. “Oh, fuck, oh—” 

“Amazing,” Obi-Wan whispered. Anakin’s blush across his face and throat intensified. His gaze dropped so that his eyes were visible only through his lashes. Obi-Wan gave his stomach a final stroke before removing his hand. Under Anakin’s incredulous gaze, he slowly licked the come off his own skin. It was stringy, warm, and terribly satisfying. Was that a squawk from Anakin? Obi-Wan greedily licked the palm of his hand, the cracks between his fingers. Anakin’s shock was far too pleasing to not tease out further. “I’ve wanted to do that a long time.” 

“M— Master,” Anakin stammered. “What are you doing?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow as he lapped the last of Anakin’s come. “I rather thought it was obvious. I’m fucking you. And I’m just getting started.”

The noise Anakin made could only be described as a whimper. The Hero With No Fear, his beloved brother in arms, was coming undone. For him. 

Oh, yes, they really were just getting started. 

*

Anakin wanted to burn alive. They’d barely even started to make out and already he’d come all over Obi-Wan like some young immature lover. He’d meant for their first time to be like with Padmé. Romantic, taking their time— 

He groaned again, unable to help it. Obi-Wan was kissing him open-mouthed, thrusting tongue against his. Anakin wriggled, bathed in arousal. His mouth flooded with the taste of his own seed. After all the times he’d sucked his Master off, to have it be reciprocated— he burrowed his hands into Obi-Wan’s tunic, skin seeking skin. There was so much clothing, too many layers. He whined. He wanted Obi-Wan, and he wanted him now. 

His Master’s hands found his ass, cupped them hard. Their old battle routines kicked in: no one could read Obi-Wan’s moves better than Anakin. He hitched up and in a single motion, wrapped his legs around Obi-Wan’s waist, hands on his shoulders. They kissed hard as Obi-Wan carried Anakin, stumbling to the nearest bed. 

 

*

“The things I’ve wanted to do to you…” Obi-Wan murmured. Anakin whimpered. But from the way his legs spread, Obi-Wan knew it wasn’t in fear. “Strip for me.” 

If only Anakin had been this obedient under his tutelage. His teenage years would’ve seen far fewer conflicts between them. Not that Obi-Wan expected this level of compliance to last. If Anakin peeled his robes off quickly and without quips, surely it was only the shock holding him back. No matter. Obi-Wan let himself enjoy the show. Before long, Anakin lay naked on the bed. “Magnificent,” Obi-Wan said. Anakin flushed all over. 

“You’re being weird,” Anakin complained, coiling a little inwards.

“No. I’m just finally doing what I want.” 

“Um.” Anakin tucked his chin into his collar bone. “Are you going to do something besides stare at me?”

Tempting, that, to simply watch Anakin writhe with frustrated desire. Perhaps tied up so that he couldn’t escape— Obi-Wan smiled at the thought. But not now. Not now when he wanted to satisfy Anakin beyond his wildest imagination. “Any suggestions?” 

“You could undress too,” Anakin said petulantly. 

“Very well.” Obi-Wan shrugged off his robe; untied his sash and slid off his layers.

*

The way Obi-Wan stripped, like it was no big deal at all— Anakin squirmed, unsure what to do with himself. It wasn’t that Obi-Wan was intimidating naked. Not at all. His muscular body was thoroughly familiar to Anakin. They’d been naked together so many times over the years. Anakin even had intimate knowledge of Obi-Wan’s cock. Knew well its weight and girth, how it felt between his lips. His mouth watered at the memory of its salty-sour taste. 

No. It wasn’t Obi-Wan’s body at all. It was the way Obi-Wan looked at him. Like he was to be consumed. Or a foe to strike down. His Master had never looked at him like that before. Anakin bit his lip, rocked his hips. Was he more scared or aroused? Because as his Master stalked to him on all fours, Anakin had to concede that maybe, just maybe, this time he’d bitten off more than he could chew. If anyone was his match, it was his Master.

He wouldn’t be bested. Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan’s hair and, leaning up on an elbow, demanded kisses. Smiled as he felt Obi-Wan groan into his mouth. Sighed happily as they rubbed against one another. Obi-Wan’s hard cock brushed against Anakin’s abdomen. He trailed wet with precome. For a series of blissful moments they just kissed and rutted. Anakin’s hand slid from his Master’s hair to his face. He panted, “Master, that feels, ahh—” 

Obi-Wan’s intense gaze pierced him. Anakin rose into him, a challenge. It was new and different and he was the one making his Master break out of his mould. Anakin preened. If his Master going to lose control, it should be over him. He kissed Obi-Wan deeper and harder, goading him. He’d waited for this. He wasn’t going to hold back.

 

*

Exquisite. Anakin kissed him with the same intensity he felt; clutched hard at his hair. And the noises Anakin made. Sloppy, unrestrained. Obi-Wan had to do more for him. Had to make Anakin come undone, over and over. The sheer need to unravel Anakin choked him. It wasn’t fair. Anakin had given him so many blow jobs. Dozens. It was Obi-Wan’s right. He’d been patient. He’d waited. Now he got to touch and fuck Anakin as much as he wanted. 

He withdrew from Anakin’s lips. A line of spit stretched between them. Anakin’s eyes opened slightly as he keened. Disappointed. Well, he wouldn’t be for long. Obi-Wan made his way down his body, liberally kissing and sucking as the urge struck: Anakin’s throat, sweat glistening along his clavicle. His sternum. Obi-Wan let himself get lost in the thickening scents of sweat and come. Anakin’s husky panting filled his ears. He was drowning in sensing Anakin. He needed to go deeper. 

Obi-Wan went past his slick chest and trembling stomach. He went beyond even Anakin’s already hardening dick. “Master,” Anakin said, surprisingly vulnerable. Obi-Wan raised his head just enough to make eye contact. He’d trained his former Padawan long enough to recognize his growing apprehension; how it threatened to grow and spin out of control. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” 

Anakin’s worry didn’t fade from his face. Well. He’d just have to prove it, then. Had Anakin not always appreciated greater contact?

Gently, he parted Anakin’s legs, encouraging them over his shoulders. Exhaled over Anakin’s skin; watched for where he shivered. There. In the crease between thigh and groin. He mouthed that juncture, sucking and nipping, listening to Anakin’s vocal cues. Kissed his way to Anakin’s entrance; his once student’s voice grew stuttered. Obi-Wan grew heady with arousal. Yes, like that. More. More. Gave Anakin’s entrance a long, deep lick. Let him fall to pieces. Let him be the one to tear him apart.

“Master,” Anakin jolted as if touching a live wire. “Oh, stars, Master— What—” 

“Shhh.” He stroked his thighs softly. “Just enjoy it.” 

Obi-Wan proceeded to thoroughly eat Anakin out. 

He worshiped the tender flesh there, licking and sucking and caressing. He had to pin Anakin down with a hand and bodily weight, he thrashed so hard, legs clenching and ass rising. Anakin’s wails only spurred him on harder, faster, more merciless. At last, at long last. Anakin was his. 

A brush against his head warned Obi-Wan. Anakin was surreptitiously trying to jerk himself off, hand desperately fisted around the base of his cock. Obi-Wan batted the offending hand away. “No,” he said, voice low. “I do that.” He was going to be the one to pleasure Anakin. No one else, not even Anakin himself. 

“Master,” Anakin whined. 

“Let me,” Obi-Wan murmured. He could do more. Better. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Anakin’s face as he probed his entrance, circling with his finger. Anakin was a gasping, shuddering mess. Without thinking or checking in, he mouthed Anakin’s balls, grasped his dick. Obi-Wan almost forgot himself in his pleasure. 

 

*

Anakin clawed the bedsheets, writhing. Flung his head back. He— he wanted this. He did. Being with Obi-Wan. But— it was just— he couldn’t stop gasping. Drowning for air. The more he tried, the less he could breathe. “Master.” Tears seeped out his closed eyelids. It felt good to have Obi-Wan touching him like he couldn’t get enough. He’d waited so long for this. But it’d built too much. Now it was static, not electricity. This wasn’t like with Padmé. Padmé, who gazed back soulfully as he entered her. This was— 

Obi-Wan gripped his dick. It was on this side of painful. It wasn’t that Anakin couldn’t deal with pain, he could handle searing, blinding pain, it wasn’t that, but, he was with his Master, it should feel good, not like this, not like he needed to escape and there was no way out and all he could do was hurt more. Words were beyond Anakin now. What could he do but whimper? 

*

It was when Anakin gave a violent jerk that Obi-Wan noticed. That one movement broke his reverie. “Anakin?” His stomach dropped. Now that he looked properly, Anakin had gone pale. It wasn’t a lot that could scare his intrepid brother-in-arms. Obi-Wan scrambled his hands and knees. Tried touching his face. “What is it, Anakin? Tell me.” But he just shook his head, unable to speak.

Ah. He’d seen this from Anakin before. Going back to the start of his training, when he was still a fresh-faced boy. He didn’t know how to stop. He’d be plum-red and swaying from side to side in sheer exhaustion. “More!” he’d insist, his practice saber shaking as he lifted it. Anakin would be so clearly beyond his physical abilities but unable to recognize it for himself. 

As a young Master, Obi-Wan wanted him to learn his own limits. Learn the natural consequences of pushing beyond them. And so he would cede to the command of more. Round after round until inevitably Anakin collapsed. “More,” he’d still say, more whimper than speech. The lesson not learned yet, Obi-Wan would pick him up and carry him back to his chambers, where the punishment would be to stay in bed until he recovered. Until they could have another training session and Obi-Wan could try again to teach him to recognize his own limits— only to fail again.

Today wasn’t about lessons. Obi-Wan had no need to enforce natural consequences. He could just… be with him, instead. He tucked Anakin’s face into his chest. “Shhhh.” Anakin’s tears spilled hot against his skin. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Anakin sobbed and threw his arms around Obi-Wan. They held each other close, Obi-Wan rubbing his back while Anakin’s shuddering breaths evened out. 

*

“What happened?” Obi-Wan asked. His hand was slow and gentle in Anakin’s hair. It was pretty nice. Anakin let out a contented sigh. Touch wasn’t just a blur of sensation anymore. Enjoyable again. The tingles going down his spine to his toes were pleasurable, not overwhelming. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan said.

Right. He’d press on until he got an answer. Anakin buried his face into the curve of Obi-Wan’s throat. “Dunno.” It’d just been too much. That he was being used, it didn’t matter who it was. That Obi-Wan just needed a warm body and it happened to be his. There was no connection, no sense that he was with Obi-Wan. The thought of Obi-Wan being with someone else— no. No. Anakin couldn’t accept it. “Do you always do it like that?” 

“Do what like what?” Obi-Wan’s fingertips grazed his cheeks. Anakin hummed his pleasure. The touch offset the dread of imagining him with anyone else. Obi-Wan was his. 

“You know.” Anakin bit the inside of his lip. “When you sleep with other men. Are you always that intense?” 

“I—” The pause made Anakin want to die. Obi-Wan was comparing him right then and there to other people. But he was his, his alone. “No,” Obi-Wan said slowly. What was taking him so long? He didn’t have to think of an answer, did he? It should just fly off the tip of his tongue. “Never. I’ve never wanted anyone so much.” 

It was… what he wanted. And yet. Anakin chewed at his thumb. “You swear?” 

“You fool.” An insult, but Obi-Wan’s smile was full of fondness. For him. “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you.” 

There. That was what Anakin was looking for. He drew his Master for a long kiss, desire stirring in him again. “Show me.” 

Obi-Wan kissed him like he did all things: with singular, burning focus. Like nothing else was worthy of his attention. Anakin wanted it all. “Deal,” he whispered into Anakin’s ear. “But you have to show me what you want.” That was a little off-putting. Anakin could barely remember what he wanted. But kisses were good. They could start there. Anakin resettled onto the mattress. And his Master followed. 

They kissed slow and tender. Anakin unwound. First it was just his hands on his his Master’s shoulders; then his arms around his torso. Eventually even his legs wrapped around Obi-Wan’s hips, an unspoken plea for closeness. Their hardnesses rubbed against each other’s abdomens, but Anakin felt no urgency. He could do this for hours. 

“Is this good?” Obi-Wan murmured against his lips. 

“Mmmm.” He arched into him. “Can’t you tell?” 

“Not a mind reader, Anakin.” 

“Pretty sure you can read this.” Finding his Master’s hand, he guided it to his cock. As fingers enveloped him again, Anakin became boneless, relinquishing his body once more. Yes. This time, it felt right. Good.

“Tell me what you want,” Obi-Wan said. His breaths were coming inhard and fast. “I’ll do anything, Anakin, just tell me, please—” 

Words couldn’t come to Anakin. This was all new territory to him. Obi-Wan was nothing like Padmé. With a new lover, Anakin hadn’t a clue what’d feel good, much less how to express it in the words Obi-Wan held so dear. But he could chase his own pleasure. Show Obi-Wan where he wanted to be touched. Share ways to be close. 

Anakin let his legs spread open. He tried to say something but it just came out as a whine. 

Obi-Wan seemed to understand. Gently, his fingers moved from cock to perineum. Encouraged by a warm hum, he slid his touch further to Anakin’s entrance. For crying out loud, Obi-Wan was relentlessly horny. Anakin never would’ve had a clue if they hadn’t opened up to each other like this. “Glad you’re here,” Anakin whispered. He flushed at Obi-Wan’s tender look. He couldn’t get used to just how… intense Obi-Wan could get. Not when it was on him. 

“Me too,” Obi-Wan said. His finger probed Anakin’s tight muscle. He writhed, still sensitive from the earlier attention; hot-embarrassed-intrigued at the intrusion. “I want you so much.” 

There it was again. Naked, with Obi-Wan trying to get in him— his heart raced off all over again and not in a good way. Too vulnerable. “Is that it? You just want me?” 

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “You should know by now. It’s you.” What did that mean? Or, more to the point, how much did it mean? Anakin clutched at Obi-Wan. It had to be all or nothing. Otherwise there was no point. “I’ll make you feel good, I promise, let me be inside you. Please.” 

Obi-Wan’s voice was husky. Almost… desperate? So unlike his Master. Anakin could hear his plea. He wanted more. Of him. Still trembling, Anakin couldn’t help but press into Obi-Wan. Couldn’t help but respond to the call to come together. His Master wanted to be inside him. And Anakin wanted him so much. He’d fought for them to be able to do this. He had to get past this… block... in his way. 

Cheek to cheek, Anakin took a deep breath. Because he knew what it was like to share such intimacy. He’d been inside Padmé just a few hours ago. There was proximity, and then there was union. Anakin warmed at the thought. Squirmed. He wanted to make his Master happy. So happy that he’d never, ever let go. Being one with Obi-Wan… that was a good plan. You couldn’t get any closer than that. He could get to feel Obi-Wan’s intensity, all the way inside. Yeah. That sounded right. 

And so Anakin nodded. He wanted this. Wanted his Master. 

*

Obi-Wan couldn’t thank Anakin for saying yes. This wasn’t a matter of gratitude or favour. Rather, it was a gift. Of more intimacy. His whole body hummed, tense with the need to be with Anakin. To feel him from the inside out. To prove his feelings. The way Anakin’s eyes shone, it seemed he still didn’t quite believe him. That Anakin still had doubts. He responded well to kisses. Well, if he liked kisses, then kisses he would have. Anakin responded warm and approving to Obi-Wan’s tongue, lips. The apprehension was still in his face, but less so. 

He supplied Anakin with a steady stream of kisses; let it be the lubricant between them. He kept them up as he coated Anakin’s entrance with gel-liquid. Oh, after weeks of waiting— He was a man of great patience. He could’ve waited for another eternity. But now that the moment had arrived, he was dizzy with lust. Obi-Wan was more than ready to penetrate his once student, now lover. “You good?” he asked. Anakin lay on his back, clinging all limbs to Obi-Wan like a twenty-tentacled Kaminoan squid.

“Yeah. I think so. But— get up, like this—” Anakin wrangled himself to sit on Obi-Wan’s lap, his legs and arms wrapped around his torso. If they’d been close before, now nothing could come between them. Slowly Anakin slid onto his cock. His eyes shut in concentration, mouth forming a circle. It was like being sheathed in the softest, snuggest leather. Obi-Wan didn’t dare exhale. This had to be good for Anakin. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, move. His entire body screamed at him to just fuck— but he quivered instead. Waited. 

Focus elsewhere. He palmed the small of Anakin’s back. It was slick with sweat. It struck him then just how willingly Anakin had delivered himself; how far they had come to reach this point. Where he could be so intimate as to stroke him vertebrae by vertebrae as Anakin settled on his dick. “Beautiful,” Obi-Wan whispered. 

“I need—” Anakin gasped. His hips twinged. 

Obi-Wan mouthed his jaw. “Do it.” 

He rocked his hips faster and faster, mewling and crying softly as he chased his pleasure. “Master, oh, Master—” 

Obi-Wan took this as his cue to move in tandem, following Anakin’s rhythm. His murmured encouragement: “Just like that, yes, Anakin—” It was sloppy and imperfect and oh so beautiful. Obi-Wan savoured every moment. Anakin came with a low, guttural cry, head slumping onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He was too boneless to even wipe his come away from his Master’s chest. 

“Mmmm,” Anakin sighed. He breathed evenly against his Master’s skin. Obi-Wan stilled. He was rock-hard in Anakin. Should he draw out? He should be gentle as he did so. Anakin must be sensitive and sore by now. “Want you to come,” Anakin said. His slight drool was warm and sticky against Obi-Wan’s throat. “Don’t stop.” 

Obi-Wan couldn’t help a groan. Fuck. He immediately flipped Anakin onto his back, throwing his legs over his shoulders. Waves of acceptance came from Anakin strong and clear through the Force. To do what he needed. And Obi-Wan could’ve held back, yes, but by the Force he needed this. Needed to drive into his chosen one. 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, languid and content. 

It was the last permission he needed. Obi-Wan let go and thrust into him with abandon. Fucked him hard and merciless, taking his pleasure. His lover and friend was pliant and warm and tight and it was all so amazing he couldn’t even think. He moaned Anakin’s name over and over; took joy in his tender expression. He pined Anakin’s wrist to the bed as he hammered away, finally, finally allowing his lust consume him. “I’m going to—” he gasped.

Anakin just exhaled and nodded. “Feels good.” He was giving and willing. “Come. Please.” 

Obi-Wan did. He held Anakin tight as he spilled his seed, driving in deep, face buried in Anakin’s hair. Time and space faded out; all he knew was the scent and taste of his beloved. He was fulfilled. Sated.

He wanted to tell Anakin everything. How incredible it was, and how grateful he was to be trusted this much. But by the time words came back to him, Anakin had fallen into a light sleep. He smiled. Allowing himself a light nuzzle, he pulled from out of Anakin— slowly, surely, because he was sore himself now and he didn’t want to wake him. 

Obi-Wan could stay like this forever besides Anakin. He longed for it. He’d do this all over again, and again, and again.

He was nowhere near done with Anakin. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS FIC IS FINISHED >:O
> 
> To everyone who’s read this far: thank you, thank you, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. ♥ I am very shy and thus not always good at replying (sorry!!! ;A; I will try to do better!). But please know that I am grateful for every comment. I just hoped to make other people have even a fraction of the utter, complete EEEEEEEE feels I have for these two idiot Jedi. If I was able to make anyone Have Feels with this story, then my work is done.
> 
> I must especially thank Becky and Zulu, who have relentlessly supported me in this PWP WIP gone out of control. I’ve exchanged… well, way too many emails & words with Becky on the specifics behind each major and minor action (“WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS, WHYYYY…. Oh, I know why! Let’s talk about it :D”). And with Zulu, I still remember walking through the Zoo with her early on in the process and her asking, “Well, why don’t you write chapter 3 from Anakin’s POV?” Those and other suggestions were revelations.
> 
> So, again, thank you for staying with me on this journey. It’d been years since I’d written and it was a joy to come back.
> 
> Now, without further adieu, LET US SEE THESE EMOTIONALLY-CONSTUPATED  IDIOTS BEING IDIOTS TOGETHER ONE LAST TIME >:D

 

Anakin awoke to tangled sheets and an empty bed. Groggy, he patted the space beside him. Wasn’t even warm. A sick feeling pooled in his stomach. Obi-Wan hadn’t even bothered to stay. All the things they’d done— Anakin clenched the sheets with his mechanical hand. Flushed violently across his face, chest. He’d trusted Obi-Wan with his life and body; risked his relationship with Padmé. Anakin could forgive Obi-Wan so much, but not casual treatment. It had to be everything or nothing.

He shoved his arms into a thin layer of robe and stormed off to find his errant Master. 

He found Obi-Wan sitting by a bay window, hyperspeed lights streaking. Obviously he’d gotten the ship up and running while Anakin was sleeping. Probably a wise move, Anakin conceded grudgingly. But would it have killed him to stay in bed? Probably. Maybe he was changing his mind now that they’d had sex. But he couldn’t imagine how, not after— the flush returned, as he remembered what they’d shared. He’d been so vulnerable. Given his self to Obi-Wan. And in turn Obi-Wan had been so gentle. Helped him when he’d gotten stuck in his head. 

The lights accentuated Obi-Wan’s cheeks; lit up the blue of his eyes. Maybe it was the way he looked, or Anakin’s desperate wish to connect after waking up alone. Either way, Anakin wanted nothing more than to kiss him. He padded over and held his Master’s face in both hands. Obi-Wan’s gaze was warm, calm. Inviting. Anakin let himself stare and soak in his Master’s soothing energy. He’d been mad for no reason. Again. No harm. Indeed, there was nothing simpler than drawing in for a long, deep kiss. 

Anakin sighed happily; hummed as Obi-Wan curled his finger’s around his nape. They should’ve always been this close. He didn’t ever want to lose it. “I love you,” Anakin said. “More than life itself.” 

Obi-Wan chuckled. “That might be excessive.” That stung. But it helped that Obi-Wan kissed him again, slow and passionate. Anakin felt how he smiled. So it was just more of Obi-Wan’s dark humour. Though, come to think of it, Obi-Wan had never said he loved him, had he. Just insinuated. Anakin’s heart hammered. He had to love him, right? He wouldn’t have compromised his vows to the Order if he didn’t?

“I have something to tell you,” Obi-Wan said softly. 

Now there was an ominous response to his declaration of love. Anakin leaned away; Obi-Wan slipped an arm around him. “What?” It wouldn’t make sense for Obi-Wan to pull out after everything they’d been through. But just because it didn’t make sense didn’t mean it couldn’t be true. Suddenly, Anakin’s muscles ached all the more keenly from their lovemaking. “What’s wrong, Master?” 

Obi-Wan was busy studying his face. Ran a thumb over his jaw line. As intimate as the touches were, it wasn’t helping. Anakin gulped. “You’re starting to scare me.” 

His Master took a deep breath. “There’s no easy way to say this. I’m leaving the Jedi Order.” 

Anakin froze. “You’re leaving me?” he blurted. Tears already threatened. He knew it. They’d finally come together and he’d screwed it up somehow. He’d messed up so bad Obi-Wan was going to leave the Jedi because of him. 

“What? No, Anakin! On the contrary!” Obi-Wan clasped Anakin’s arms. “Listen to me. I’m leaving the Order. Not you. I’m leaving _for_ you.”

The tears still came down his face, thick and disbelieving. “I don’t understand.” 

Obi-Wan, inured from years of Anakin’s crying, just smudged the streaks with his thumb. “Don’t you see? I’ve betrayed the Code for you. I can’t claim no passion, I have no serenity. And the thing is, I don’t care. I want to be with you more than I want to return to the Code.”

If Obi-Wan left, then— he wouldn’t be a Jedi. He’d be out of the War. He’d be out of the Temple. Where would he go? Who would he even be? Anakin couldn’t begin to wrap his head around the consequences. “For me?” 

“For you,” he affirmed. How could he smile at a time like this? Their worlds were falling apart. Anakin didn’t want to be in an Order without Obi-Wan. He’d become a Jedi by his Master’s hand. If he wasn’t there, what was the point? For all intents and purposes, he really was leaving Anakin. 

Oblivious to Anakin’s turmoil, Obi-Wan continued. “I can’t force you into anything, of course, but I want you to leave with me.”

Now Anakin truly gaped. But— he was a Jedi. He’d left his mother to become one. Trained for years and years under his Master. “We can’t just walk away!”

“Why not?” 

“Because—“ Anakin wracked his mind to find reasons to defend the institution he’d belonged to for over a decade. “Because I worked so hard to become a Jedi knight!”

Obi-Wan cupped his face. “We’ll make good use of your training. It won’t have been for naught. We can still do good, together.” 

How could Obi-Wan look so serene? As peaceful as the centre of a swirling galactic system. “What about you?” Anakin demanded. “I know I’m not much of a Jedi, but you! You’re everyone’s favourite! You were going to be chosen for the Council.”

“The Order did define my life,” Obi-Wan agreed. His calloused thumb was gentle as it stroked his cheek. Anakin refused to be swayed. “I’ll have to find a new meaning.”

“You say that as if it’s easy!”

“It won’t be.” 

There had to be some reason why Anakin wanted to stay in the Order. But the longer Obi-Wan gazed at him with such confidence, the harder it was to think of any. The Jedi needed them, didn’t they? “What about the War? The Republic?”

“We don’t have to be generals to be in the war. I’ve already thought of dozens of ways to support the Republic.” 

“What about the Force? And helping people?” That’s how he’d started on this path. Just a simple wish to help as many beings as possible. It was the belief his mother had passed on to him and that he still carried in his heart. He couldn’t give that wish up. If there was one reason to stay a Jedi, it was to carry on the promise of his mother’s words. But he also knew with bone-deep certainty: he couldn’t do it without Obi-Wan. 

“None of that would go away. We could still use the Force to help.”

“What about—“

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan pulled him in for a crushing hug. Or maybe it was just that it was hard to breath thinking of such an unimaginable path. “I don’t know all the details. I’ve only just come to this decision. But I’m not worried. It’s a different life, that’s all. I believe— no, I know— it’ll be a good one. We’ll use our skills to help others. And I can be with you openly.” 

Anakin was dizzy, more overwhelmed than ever. Not even Obi-Wan knew what the future would hold for them. But at least he thought they could do good. Anakin believed in him. Utterly, completely. There was nothing he couldn’t do without Obi-Wan by his side. 

Obi-Wan pulled away enough to look Anakin in the eyes again. “I don’t expect you to have an answer for me yet. I don’t even expect you to say yes. I just ask that you give my proposal some thought.” 

“Yes.” The word flew out of Anakin’s mouth. 

“You’ll think it over? Thank you, I appreciate—“

“No! I mean, yes. I accept.” Anakin squared his shoulders. Willed the light-headedness and trembling away. “I’ll leave the Order with you.”

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to be scandalized. “You haven’t given this any thought at all!”

Anakin tilted his chin up. “Why should I? You’re the one always telling me, ‘Trust thine gut.’ Well, my gut says to follow you.” 

His eyebrow arched. “I recall saying no such thing. And you can’t just follow me for the sake of followingme. This has to be for you.”

“Following you is what I’m doing for me,” Anakin said stubbornly.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Try thinking from other angles. What about Padmé? And your own dreams?” 

“I’ll talk to her, she’ll understand. As for my dreams…” To become a Jedi Master. To lead troops. To defend the Republic and the weak. More than that: to be with the ones he loved. To have a family. Anakin became heady again, but this time, instead of panic, it was with the weight of possibility. There’d be so much more he could do. “You’re right. We can still do good. That’s all I care about. Like, Padmé always has missions she wants me to do but I can’t as a Jedi, so I did them on the down-low. Go to planets and help rebel factions, that kind of thing.” 

The more Anakin talked, the more he visualized for them. He and Obi-Wan fighting back to back while the Jedi Council and Senate were stuck in hair-splitting debates. They could just act. He spoke faster and faster, words barely keeping up with his thoughts. “Or I could build that space cruiser I’ve always wanted to but the Council said would be a waste of time, you know, with the modified hyperdrive and turbo jets, I think it’d really boost the speed—mmmph!” 

His words were cut off by an abrupt, passionate kiss. Anakin melted into the touch; glowed at the spontaneous show of affection. When they parted his Master’s eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen. “I wish you’d give this more thought, Anakin, but I’m also glad to see you so excited.” 

Obi-Wan’s warmth was so strong Anakin had to tuck his head. He wasn’t used to this… closeness. His Master’s undivided attention was sharp and intense, like sunlight through a magnifying lens. Anakin quite liked it. “There’s just so much to think about, Master.” His ideas kept on spilling out of control. “We have to tell Padmé. Let’s head back! I can’t wait. We can pick up BT while we’re there, he’ll be a great help in planning out our new missions. And the Council. Can we tell them together? I want to see their faces! They’ll never see this coming, and—“ 

“All things in due time, my good friend. But wait a moment.” Obi-Wan’s eyebrows drew together. “Did you just say we have to get BT back from Padmé? Did you honestly give her the machine that plotted to either kill us or have us so busy with blow jobs we’d abandon the war?” 

“It sounds bad when you put it that way,” Anakin said defensively. “And anyway, she liked it!” 

“I’m sure she did.” Obi-Wan looked up at the ceiling in silent exasperation. 

“Hey, I know what that look means.”

“I know you know. At any rate, let’s do one thing at a time.” Obi-Wan patted his shoulder. But the distant gesture felt like a relic from too far in the past; Anakin crushed him in a bear hug instead. Obi-Wan’s voice became strangely affected and oh stars, he wasn’t horny again, was he? What was he made of, pure hormones? Anakin couldn’t believe he'd ever thought him without desire. “Let’s finish the last run for the Jedi. Then we can plot how to save the galaxy.” 

Save the galaxy. What an impossible mandate. The Jedi Order would never take on that mission. "Yes!" Anakin said. They could save the galaxy. Between the two of them, why not? With Padmé at their side, they could do anything, surely. "We can free slaves on Tatooine. End the war!" And build droids. Definitely more of that. And less meditation. 

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "Anakin, I didn't mean it like that!"

It being Obi-Wan, of course he said it in sarcastic jest, but he was right! The way joy was pouring out of Anakin, he needed a good physical connection anyway. He had to share the feelings somehow. Connect. So he drew Obi-Wan into another deep kiss, half-laughing. "We can do it, Master. We can save the galaxy."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Obi-Wan said. But the way he smiled— okay, fine, it was irresistible, he could have his horniness.

Anakin leaned in and kissed him. He'd convince his Master yet. And they could make the most of the few hours to their destination; the few hours to the next phase of their lives. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Zulu & Becky for the beta & support!


End file.
